Of vermin and rats
by Mr. Dot
Summary: What do you do when you're just a skaven between a moltitude of skaven. Well, first, you try to be Morr Sharpheart, greatest of the rat-kin and chosen of the Horned Rat. Listen to his story as he makes his way from humble beginnings toward a destiny that nobody would have ever immagined.
1. Chapter 1

The first memory that he had was of the darkness.

Full, encompassing, it covered everything like a mantle. The world was a thing of smells and scents, and he, for the first time in his life, did what he would always be good to.

He listened, and smelled, and felt.

His ears told him of rustle of fur and bodies; his nose spoke of feces, urine and damp; his touch of… of warmth, fur again and… and something else he wasn't sure about.

Suddenly, his nose picked up something different.

Deliciousness. Food.

Groping blindly, he moved in the direction from where the smell was coming from.

His paws found a soft mass, then a big nipple. There! He latched to it with his mouth, then began to suck eagerly. Refreshing, godly goodness streamed in his throat and he drank with joy. The stream abated after a while and him, wanting more, pressed alternatively at the sides of the nipple. The milk returned, faster, and he drank and drank.

When he was satiated, he detached from the nipple, milk dribbling down his mouth's sides. He burped, then he left himself slide down, drowziness already taking hold of him.

Still, he had to find a good place where to sleep.

Groping around, he felt fur and warmth against his body. He fumbled with the mass for a while, searching for a good position. But the warmth kept on shifting, and he couldn't find… oh, well. He was good enough as he was.

Thinking that, he left himself fall down with a satisfied little burp.

His mind was swimming through the haze of sleep, when a sound came into his ears. Soft and melodious, it was; a chirping melody that sent a wave of contentment echoing inside of him. It caressed him, made him feel welcome and loved. It was… nice.

He felt warm, safe, welcome.

He felt at home.

Time passed, alternating between sleep, groping blindly through the furry darkness, tasting the sweet milk and listening to the beautiful song.

During that time, he realized that there were others there, in the darkness, groping like him, eating and sleeping and listening like him. They aroused his curiosity, but not enough go out of his way: food and sleep were more important. At best, he writhed with them in the fur, searching for the most safe and warmest place.

One day, he was searching for the nipple again, when something pushed him back, stealing his place. Irritated for the interruption, he tried again, but a paw pushed against his snout, keeping him from reaching his prize. He tried another way, moving over what it blocked him, but, again he found flesh and fur blocking him. Despite his efforts, instead of going forward he was pushed back more and more, until the warm fur ended. He shivered as he felt the cold air, and tried to return into the fold, but all his efforts were for naught. The fur was like an unpenetrable wall.

Dejected, he renounced. He leaned against the fur, trying to take as much warm as possible. His stomach rumbled, and he felt very unhappy and very alone.

After a while, the mass of fur slackened and moved. Pushed by relief and hunger, he rushed forward, searching for the nipple. When he found it, he attached to it. The feeling of the sweet milk rushing his tongue felt heavenly, and he sucked with happiness. After a while, though, it ended, and, no matter how much he pressed, no more milk came out.

Anger burning in him, he drew back from the nipple and returned into the furry darkness.

As he laid between his brethren, hunger pangs beating inside of him, he realized his first and second lessons: the first, he was not the only one seeking for goodness. The second, and more important, all the others were competitors for it and, as such, enemies. Those were the lessons that the furry darkness taught him, pure instinct in a mind uncapable to understand words yet, and he remembered them.

In that moment, though, the song managed to sooth him, at least a bit.

After that first time, every time that something from the furry mass tried to push him away, he replied with pushes and kicks. He was kicked and pushed in turn, and were more the times that he ended without eating all of his fill than not, but he managed nonetheless, sucking as much as he could and fighting the best that he could.

The song was ever there for him. Everytime he laid in the dirt, stomach cramping for the hunger, or during the lucky day, as his mind swam in the comfortable warmth of his full belly; the song was there for him, soothing him, lulling him through the pathways that brought to sleep. It happened, from time to time, than a hard mass descended from the same place where the song came from, caressing him. When it happened, he leaned against it, a happy chitter softly rumbling his breast. It lasted always for a little, the mass soon moving to give its attention to another, but each time, it left him feeling happy and loved.

More time passed, and with it, came vision. Little at first, then fully after, he opened his eyes.

The world welcomed him with the colours of grime and filth. Curious, he began to explore. Every stained pebble, every filthy-encrusted bit of dirt was a marvelous discovery, and he joyously lost himself in the research. After a while, his snout found the world's end. It was a wall of dirt and stone. Curious, he raised himself on his hind legs, leaning against it and sniffing. Above, he could see that the wall ended, but it was too tall for him to reach. He drew back, delusion blossoming in his chest.

It was just in that moment that he remembered about all the things he had felt during his period of darkness.

Curious, he turned around.

His siblings were all there, sniffing around like him was doing. They were small rat-like creatures, covered by short fur and with luminous eyes. He watched them for a while, but experience had already taught everything about them, and his interest waned fast. Instead, he watched the corpulent, furry figure at the center of the pit.

Affection blossomed in his chest as instict told him that was his mother.

Timidly, he shuffled forward. He wanted to get her attention, but how?

He stood there, fidgeting unsure.

Thankfully, she noticed him a moment later. The broodmother smiled and beckoned him forward.

As he shuffled closer, she leaned a pudgy paw toward him. He watched it with suspicion for a moment, his eyes darting between it and the broodmother's smiling features. She didn't pressure him, leaving his paw hanging just out of reach. Suspicion and affection warred in his mind for a moment, before he lowered his head, accepting the gesture. The broodmother caressed him on the head, eliciting a pleased fur from him.

Suspect melted under that simple gesture, and he leaned against that talon, grasping at it with his little paws as it kept it on caressing him.

"Aren't you an affectionated one?" The broodmother purred, moving him close to her.

He hugged one of her sides, chittering with affection.

The broodmother chuckled, before snatching him up in the air.

"I think i'll call you Morr, just like your father." She said, holding him up before her.

After a moment of surprise, he squeaked in protestation, little legs kicking in the air.

The broodmother laughed.

"And defiant, too! An appropriate name, then."

She put him down, then patted him on the head.

"All good, see?"

He glared at her hard.

"Aw, what a face. You're going to keep it to your mom?"

Before her smile, his gaze faltered, eyes darting up and down, before settling on the floor. She opened her arms, and he timidly ran into them.

"All good!" The broodmother laughed, hugging him softly.

His ear against her wide chest, he felt it as it rumbled with her laughter. She smelled of fur and warmth and mom. He didn't understand what she had said, but he felt like he could agree with it.

All good, yes.

They remained like that for a couple of moment, then, to his discontentement, she put him down between his siblings.

"Be good now, ok?" She told him, gentle but firm.

She didn't understand the words, but the tone sounded like he had to run along. It didn't feel a shove aside, though.

Understanding, he returned to his sniffing and discovering.

This time, he sent his attention towards his brethren. They were scuttling around, the little buggers, playing and tumbling. He inspectioned them one for one, with the serious intensity of a seargent with his troops.

They were all enemies, he remembered.

The first smelled of angry and tough. He was black and big, and he whished his tail and showed his teeth as Morr regarded him. His eyes burned like hot coals. Morr thought for a moment of standing up to him, but then the fact that he was smaller came to mind. His insticts told him of lower his head, and he did so grudgingly, before scuttling to the next.

The second's scent tasted like sick and weak. He was little and his coat was dotted with bald spots. As Morr watched him, he raised unfocused eyes toward him. His nose ran with mucus and what little fur he had was matted with filth.

Morr was deciding what to do with him when the paw of the broodmother scooped the little one. Morr watched with surprise as he was nestled by his mother against her breast. Then, she began to sing, lulling him softly, while licking him.

Morr felt a surge of jealousy, and gave his back to the scene with irritation. Who cared! Pah! Angry, he searched for the third.

This one was pushing against the big one, his scent tasting of determination and defiance. The big one seemed more amused than angry by his efforts, and pushed him back easily. Still, he kept going back at it, his tail swishing with animosity and his eyes burning bright.

Morr felt contempt for him. The big one was too big for him to win like that. He had to do like he did and stay low. It wasn't like he meant it for real…

Turning his back to the scene with derision, he turned to the next.

This one, the fourth, was a female. Her scent tasted of vitality and exuberance as she moved erratically up and about, her snout seeming to find an endless list of things that attracted her attention. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with a light that Morr hadn't ever seen anywhere.

Intimidated, he shuffled back away, careful as not to attract her attention.

As soon as he was at a good distance, he huffed. Who was next?

He moved his snout left and right, seeing other two ratlings that he hadn't checked. They were playing, scuttling and pursuing each other. It was a simple game, with one pursuing the other, with the pursuer and the pursued changing without pattern. They both smelled of joy and excitation.

Morr felt the impulse to join them, but pushed it back swiftly. He had things to see, stuff to do! Who else?

It was then that he saw him.

The monster.

He smelled of hunger and dark, dark things for which Morr had no name. He was enormous, so much that he had exchanged his bulk for part of the gloom of the pit.

And he was close.

Morr realized it with a surge of panic. The monster was close to his mother, strewn against her in fact. He squeaked in alarm, and jumped up and down when his mother's gaze moved on him. It was dangerous! Dangerous!

And still, there wasn't alarm appearing in his mother's eyes, nor fear for the thing that was just beside her. Instead, Morr saw a sad light appearing in them. He was confused as she petted him with soft affection.

"Go greet your brother." She whispered, and pushed him gently towards the monster.

Morr tried to resist, scrambling against her paw, but he was pushed and then dropped delicately before the black mass of fur. He fixed his eyes in it. As he watched, an eye opened before him, its pupil black as obsidian. It rotated around once, then fixed on him and focused.

Morr felt sweat prickle his skin. He squeaked weakly and tried to run, but his mother's hand kept him blocked there. He raised his eyes, pleading. She encouraged him softly.

Seeing no escape, he swallowed and steeled himself, or at least, tried to.

The eye was still watching him.

Timidly, he moved towards it, nose sniffing.

The fur moved, making him yelp and draw back, but no aggression arrived. Instead, another snout appeared, sniffing at him.

Morr shrank back, ill at ease, but then, seeing that the monster seemed to harbour no ill intent, curiosity returned, and he began to sniff on his turn.

He smelled of hunger and dark, yes, but, now that he noticed, he smelled even of… strenght, deep and stable as the walls of the pits, and, and… contentement, and serenity.

He was immersed in this olfattive recognition, when the monster pushed his snout against his own.

Morr squeaked in surprise and jumped back, tail swishing and fur straight as he prepared to defend himself.

But, again, no aggression came.

Instead, the monster chittered softly, his big chest rumbling with… laughter?

For some reasons, that sound made outraged pride erupt inside of Morr. He stomped to the monster, thoughts about how big he was shoved aside, and showed his teeth straight at his face, chattering aggressively.

The monster stopped, surprise appearing in his eyes.

Morr realized what had he done with a gulp. Sure, let the big one stay and go make angry the really big one, why not?

He was starting to think about retreating, fast, when the monster erupted in another chitter. Morr watched with startled surprise as the monster's ears relaxed in joy, while his eyes closed for the same feeling.

A paw emerged from the thick fur, smacking against Morr.

He squeaked and fell back. Was… was the monster attacking him?

Fast as lightning, he found refuge behind the paw of his mother.

Her laughter mixed with the chittering of the monster.

"Morr. I present you your brother. His name is Gargant."

Hidden behind the paw, feeling something hot burning in his chest for those two laughing, Morr sneered at the monster.

He was surprised by the caress of his mother on his head.

"Be friends to each other, ok?" She cooed, smiling at his surprised gaze.

Moor felt his expression sink. He wasn't exactly sure what she had said, but the tone, and his instict, told him that wasn't anything of pleasing for him.

He stared hard at the monster. He was the cause of everything. He knew it.

In response, the monster grinned widely, his large ears flapping with joy.

Somewhere in his verminous, ratling heart he felt that he would have started to hate that stupid grin of his. Heck, he disliked it already!

"Alright, boys and girl. Time for food!"

Those words weren't enough to make everyone forget their pains and occupation, but her mother laying back was. Even Morr forgot his grudges and, together with his siblings, rushed to the eager search of good, delicious milk. They were all thrown aside by Gargant, but that was but a detail for a starved little pack of ratlings. They were back up and charging as soon as they hit the ground, little chittering warcries on their lips.

The broodmother chuckled.

* * *

Inside the pit, time didn't mean much, if not just the movement between sleep and food time.

Morr was caught between sleep and drowsiness, the weight of a unusual feast of milk weighing down on him, when he felt snippets of words. He recognized his mother's voice, and… another, that he hadn't ever heard.

Curious, he roused himself up, but didn't move. Instead, he opened his ears and listened.

"…he needs more than i can give him. Just look at him!"

"He doesn't look so big to me."

Morr winced slightly. The new voice was unpleasant to hear, sounding more like an aggressive hoarse bark, and sent shivers running down his back.

"That's because you're half-blind, fool! Send one of your thugs down and he will see him!"

"Then, what? You're going to sweet-talk him against me? No way. You're gonna keep your runt as it is." The voice took a mocking tone. "And anyway, what. You're telling me that you alone cannot feed him? No way that a broodmother can't feed just a runt, and if he's good as you say, he will take what he needs."

"I… i don't know why…"

Morr frowned. He couldn understand only snippets of the words that were being exchanged, but the hesitant tone in her mother's voice caught his attention.

"He just… he doesn't take all. He always let some for his brothers. I… i don't know why! You must do something or he will die!"

"Pah! What kind of skaven do that? Good for nothing! Better let the Horned One take him back, i say."

"Wait!"

Morr almost jolted. He had never heard such urgency in his mother's words.

"What now? Don't waste my time."

"Just a control, just once. Come down here and see him. Just once!"

"Again with this story? I told you, i don't fall for it. I am not giving you more food for whatever lie you're inventing."

"It's not a lie, you damn fool! …very well then."

Morr barely repressed a squeak. He had always thought of her mother as the sweet, caring, calm voice of food and affection, but now that same voice was charged of a deliberated cold that shook him to the core.

"If you don't listen to me and make sure that my child is well-feeded, i… i will bring the matter directly to the warlord when he arrives."

A moment of silence.

"… you're kidding."

"I am not."

A snicker.

"You're just a low-grade broodmother. The warlord doesn't even glance at you when he enters here. Why do you think that he's going now?"

"Because he isn't a blind fool like you, Sneer, that's why."

A pause. Morr could hear his heart pouding.

"If you disturb the warlord for something like that, and then it's not true, he will have you killed."

"I know, but it won't happen."

Another pause.

"This runt of yours. It's truly as big as you say?"

"Come and see. And then the reward for bringing him up to the warlord will be all yours."

"Let's see then. But if it's a lie…"

Morr shivered at those trailed off words.

"See for yourself."

There was a sound of steps getting closer, and a great shadow appeared at the rim of the pit.

Scared, Morr pushed his head against his brethren's fur, shutting himself from whatever was happening. Something was invading the world, something coming from outside and he didn't like it. At all!

He buried himself so deep between the mound formed by his brethren, that he didn't hear the exclamation of marvel launched by Sneer at seeing his brother, nor he saw the pleased expression, even if rimmed of sadness, appearing on his mother's face.

The next day, or at least, when Morr woke up, a foreign object was in the pit.

It was tall, almost as tall as mother, and was made of wood and iron. A strange metal contraption jutted out of its lower half, bending in a curve.

None of the ratlings had ever seen a barrel before, and so they swarmed it with eager curiosity.

Morr was the first to pick up the scent of milk coming out of the contraption. More curious than famished, since he had already had his fill, he sniffed around, searching for where it actually came. His siblings joined him shortly.

Their research was cut short by their mother, that, smiling widely, put a big bowl under the contraption. She turned the contraption and, lo!, a flush of delicious milk came out of it!

The ratlings exploded in a flurry of excitated agitation, not jumping straight at it only because they were already satiated.

Smiling, their mother waited for the bowl to be full, before turning down the contraption. The flow, at the ratling deluded "aww" stopped. The broodmother raised the filled bowl and shambled close to Gargant.

Curious, Morr left his sibling that swarmed around the barrel and followed her at a corner of the pit.

The biggest of the litter laid on the dirt. The stink of sickness laid over him and ribs protuded from his chest. His tail, the segmented bones visible underneath the skin, moved as the mother moved close to him. She whispered and Gargant raised his head. His eyes filled with hunger at seeing the milk, and he turned to look at his mother, trepidation and a question in his gaze. Cooeing softly, she put the bowl before his snout, then patted him on the head, pushing him softly towards it.

He hesitated, his gaze moving to look at Morr. The two's eyes met for a moment, before those of Gargant flicked to glance to Morr's full stomach. Just then, hesitation disappeared from his features, replaced by hunger.

Gargant plunged his snout in the bowl, lapping and drinking voraciously.

The broodmother laughed and patted Morr.

Morr took the gesture with a little wince, then raised his gaze towards her. She was watching Gargant eat, the light of affection in her eyes.

Morr watched Gargant in turn.

The great ratling was eating like his life depended from it. The milk splashed around the bowl.

Watching him, Morr felt an angry ember burn in his chest.

Envy. It burned in him like a hot flame.

Still, as time passed, that envy became puzzlement. By the time of the third full bowl of milk, it had become full-blown, mouth-open, wide-eyed amazement. How much that runt was going to eat?

Six bowls, each as big as one of the ratling, were needed to satiate Gargant.

As soon as he lapped clean the last each drop, the big ratling wavered, milk drippling down his chin. He stood still for a moment, eyes rounding around, then fell face first into the bowl.

Morr yelped, but the broodmother just laughed. Leaning close, she hoisted the ratling up. She patted him on the back until Gargant let out a massive belch that resounded in the pit like a war horn.

The broodmother giggled as the general attention turned her direction. Cooeing gently, she put Gargant down, then turned to Morr.

The ratling had his ears down, but they went back up as his mother patted him, soft affection shining in her eyes.

Morr felt light shining in his chest, but the moment was cut short as his mother pushed him forward and towards Gargant.

His chest softly collided with the side of his big brother's snout.

Gargant's eye watched him, a question in it.

He watched back, suspicious.

The eye's expression softened, just before that his brother jumped on him.

Morr squeaked as he fell, a chittering sound filling his ears. He realized with dismay that it was Gargant's laughter.

He ended on his back, Gargant jumping away from him.

Raising up, he saw him watching him with a eager expression and a tense body.

At first, Morr didn't understand what he wanted, but then it hit him. He wanted to play!

Slowly, he got up, dust and dirt falling from him.

Ah, so he wanted to play, eh?

A fierce smirk broke out over his snout.

With a squeak, he pounced.

Fast as lightning, Gargant moved out of the way, sending him to tumble in the dirt. Morr was back up in a moment, jumping again. In a moment, they were running around the pit, the small ratling chasing the giant one, under the puzzled gazes of the others of the litter. Morr squeaked fiercely, while Gargant chittered with joy.

Watching them play, the broodmother smiled softly. Still, thoughts of the future moved in her mind, and her smile become edged with sadness.

Only a little more now…

* * *

 _ **This story will have some things made different from the original Warhammer Fantasy. For the major part, it will be changes needed to fill logic problems.**_

 _ **This story hasn't been in any way commissioned by some elusive Council of some fantasy race of rat-men. In fact, there are no things like rat-men living under our feet and surely there is no ninja ratman pointing a dagger against my back as i write this. That is the truth and ayone who believes the contrary should be ashamed of himself.**_

 _ **Hail our overlordr, the Sk... Sigmar. That's what i wanted to say, yes.**_


	2. Chapter 2

More time passed, relatioships were built and a hierarchy was estabilished.

On top, obviously, there was Gargant, with all his massive bulk and sheer power. Nobody of the littler could ever begin to measure up to him, not even close. He was a giant between dwarves, literally.

On the bottom, stood Morr. Even if piebald, with patches of white that inspired respect, he was the runt of the litter, the smallest, with only the sickly Thrik being lower than him. Nobody took him seriously and everybody made sure of kicking him when it was time to feed.

Still, he was the only one with the guts to actually get close to Gargant, and in time a strange symbiosis formed between the duo. However big and strong he was, Gargant didn't have the aggressivity that one expected from a black-furred skaven. Instead, he was laid back, timid and didn't like to bully and fight. Morr was almost his opposite. Vicious, spiteful and full of aggressive drive, he had the will and the wish to get on top and crash all the opposition.

The duo clicked together in an almost disquieting way. It was rare a day without Morr hiding behind the bulk of his brother, calling for help against bullying and inciting him to push back and hurt, with Gargant duly complying. At the same time, it happened often for Gargant to stop his violent ministrations just before actually hurting somebody, to the chagrin of his litter brother.

Morr couldn't understand why Gargant didn't use his bulk to bully the rest of the litter in submission, nor why he was so ready to do what he told him to do, but why complain? Gargant was more than eager to divide his massive ration of milk with him and more than happy to beat the skull of that idiot Hurk when he tried to bully him. As far as he was concerned, that was the best situation for him. He got to stuff himself and to lord over his brothers - what faces they did when he threatened them of calling Gargant!-. That was life!

The broodmother oversaw that little universe, her kind smile and ready attention always there for each of the hyperactive ratling, with no exception.

The litter, divided as it was, was unanymous in wholehearteadly loving her. Every sleep time was accompanied by her soft song and caresses, every moment by her sweet affection. Gargant and Morr slept nestled against her, her soft humming lulling them to sleep.

They loved her, she was the center of their little world.

But, not even with all their adoration, they actually understood how much she had been lucky in having her as her mother, a lesson that they would have learned only later in life.

Time passed and, together with it, came growth and new learnings.

The Broodmother taught to the litter how to to speak and how to take care of themselves, how to live and many many other things.

"The name for us is Skaven." She said with soft solemnity at the entranced litter. "We are the children of the Horned Rat."

"Who's the Horned Rat?" Morr asked.

"The Horned Rat is the greatest and wisest Skaven. He was the first Skaven to have ever lived and there hasn't ever been one bigger than him."

"Really?" Gargant asked, in one of his rare moment of stepping out from silence. "How great he is?"

A smile appeared on the broodmother's solemn countenance. "Great enough that he can climb over this pit's walls with only a step."

An admirated "oooh" raised from the litter, as the ratlings tried to immagine a skaven so big.

"And where does he lives?" Morr asked.

"Away and away, in a great house full of the most delicious food and of the shiniest things. There, he sit on a great chair and has a court full of the greatest skaven to have ever lived."

"So, he's like a king?" Morr asked, remembering the fairytales that the broodmother used to teach them new things.

The broodmother nodded. "Yes, he's the great king of the Skaven and everybody listen to him."

"He… he will come here?"

That question sent a shiver of both expectation and disquiet running through the litter.

"No." The broodmother said with sadness. "He can't."

"Why? Isn't he the biggest skaven?"

"He is, but listen." The broodmother gestured towards the walls of the pit. "See those walls?"

The litter turned briefly where she was indicating, before nodding.

"Walls bigger than those keep the Horned Rat from coming from us."

The litter tried and failed to imagine such things.

"Why?"

The broodmother hummed for a moment, before answering.

"Long time ago, before you were born, yes, even before i was born, the Horned Rat walked the land just as you and me. At that time, there were terrible creatures roaming above."

The litter nodded. The fabled over-ground. Many fairytales of their mother talked of it.

"The Horned Rat was big and strong, but those creatures were many and vicious, and he couldn't defeat them all alone. So, in his wisdom, he retreated down in the earth and there he escaped his persecutors. He liked the darkness and the silence, but he longed for children to call his own. So, he put his great paw over the rats that scuttled at his feet and, when he raised it up, up!, the first skaven danced out in the underworld!"

She clapped her paw once, and a shiver of enthusiasm passed over the litter.

"Hooray for the Horned Rat! Hooray!"

"And then?" Morr asked eagerly.

"Then, he sent the skaven scuttling away in all the world, and they became many many, many enough to battle against the monster that infested the over-world and strong enough to face them without fear. But then…"

"Then?"

"Then, something changed in the world. It became… less. And, even if the greatest of the mosters on the surfaces disappeared, now the world wasn't great enough for the Horned Rat to remain in it. So, he went away, behind walls greater that these ones and there he built his house. Still, many many holes he made in the walls and from there he watches over his children and if we try to listen, we can pick up his chittering, that shows us the way."

"Oooooh…"

There was a moment of silence as the litter absorbed those words. The ratlings tentatively raised their ears, trying to pick up the whispers of the Horned Rat.

Curious, Morr was the first to speak up.

"Why the world changed?" He asked.

"Nobody knows for sure." The broodmother said. "The wisest of the skaven says that it was fault of the elves-things and of their magic, that they made a big hole in the world and made it smaller. Others says that it was the fault of the nasty things that come from the end of the world. Even today, nobody has been ever sure." She smiled at the saddened expressions of the litter. "Don't cry though, because the Horned Rat watches over us and protect us."

"Even now?"

"Even now. Always. And if we act as good skaven, he will reward us."

"Oooooh."

That and many more lessons were imparted by the broodmother to the litter, about the life of the skaven, their history, how they were supposed to live and what the right values to follow were. Strenght, cunning, staying together and scuttling together, as brothers. Those were the pillars of the strange education that the broodmother gave to her litter.

And still, she put them on guard about how the world of the skaven was ugly and bad, its inhabitants having forgotten the lessons of the Horned Rat.

Her fairy tales were the first form of lessons that Morr and Gargant received, and the smallest of the two picked up everything incredibly fast. In particular, he reveled in learning how to talk and express himself. He loved the subtleties of the language of the Skaven, Queekish, the mosaics of meaning that could be woven and changed with the movements of the body together with those of the mouth.

Between lessons and fairytales, more time passed. The milk was substituted by meat, that was thrown in the pit at regular intervals, and the ratlings kept on growing.

The initial differences in growth were blunted by the good nutrition they received, and all ended up on growing fat and healthy. And still, nobody could ever hope to compete with Gargant, whose growth seemed to know no limit.

Life was good for the litter, and, between a good meal and their mother's affection, it seemed like it would have continued like that forever. Yes, the broodmother had said that it would come a moment in which they would be carried out of the pit and had to step into the world, but that time seemed far away like the dreams that lulled Morr to sleep, dreams that recounted to him the tales that his mother told to him.

Then, that night came.

Morr woke up with a jolt, his eyes snapping open.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

As always, before moving rashly, he left his senses extend around him. They brought him the soft snooring of the litter, the usual pungent odours of the pit, and still… there was something in the air, an intense vibration that rumbled through his chest.

He slept, as always, nestled against Gargant's thick fur, the warmth of his big brother warming him, his deep, steady breath lulling him to sleep.

A realization jolted in his mind. The breath of his brother! He couldn't hear it anymore!

"Gargant?" He whispered. That buzz of danger was still in the air, pushing him to keep his voice low.

There was a sort of nervous chitter coming from his brother, more of an animalistic sound than an actual reply. Morr shivered. There was something very wrong in it.

The great ratling laid wrapped in a roll of fur, his head hidden. Gingerly, Morr moved from his resting spot and sneaked his way up the mound of black fur. Gargant was breathing, he noticed, but not at the slow, deep pace he was used to. Instead, he took quick, short, frantic breaths.

Morr moved through the fur, using the already pronunced muscles of his brother as a ladder, and came out on his top. From there, he had a good vision of Gargant's face.

It was in that moment that his anxious feelings turned to full-blown alarm.

Gargant's eyes were wide open, their usual yellowish radiance turned to a bloodshot red. His breath came out ragged and short, and his snout glistened with sweat.

"Gargant?" Morr asked, alarmed. "Brother?" He could feel him tremble under his paws.

The suddeness with which Gargant's gaze snapped to him made him squeak in surprise. The eyes of the great ratling made a clump of ice form inside his chest. He was watching him like he watched those lumps of meat that they brought to the pit after a long time of waiting.

"B-brother?" Morr asked, feeling fear's fingers crawl over his heart.

Gargant opened his maw slightly, his tongue darting out briefly. For a moment, he looked about to say something, but then he closed his mouth and swallowed.

Suddenly, he darted forward. Morr squeaked in fear, and fell down from his perch. He tumbled in the dirt, paws scrambling, before coming to a rest against a wall.

He raised himself slowly, heart hammering. Gargant was stopped in the middle of raising up, his red eyes fixed on him. All his muscles of his body were tensed, like before of a jump. There was turmoil on his face now, his features twisted in a pained grimace.

Morr found that he couldn't look away by those two eyes fixed on him.

"What is happening?"

The heads of both snapped to the left. Their broodmother seemed to emerge from the shadows of the pit like an apparition. Her soft smile was unchanged, her eyes full of patient affection.

Morr blinked. She didn't look like she was waking now. Was she already there?

The rest of the litter was waking up, paws were rubbing eyes and questions were groggily being asked.

They weren't even glanced upon. The broodmother had eyes only for Gargant.

The great ratling was trembling, his eyes two great poles of sanguine light.

Morr squeaked when he glanced at him, drawing back out of instinct. The smell of the dark was strong now, and hit his nose like a punch. Whispers caressed his ears. He could feel a headache raising in time with his hammering heart.

Gargant made a step toward him. A drop of spit fell from his mouth. It fizzled when it it hit the ground.

"Gargant."

The firm voice of the broodmother cut the tense silence like a knife in the butter.

Gargant stopped. He was trembling.

"Watch me."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Gargant obeyed.

The broodmother's gaze was firm, but her smile was unchanged. She opened her arms wide, like as inviting him to embrace her.

That gesture sent Morr's sense of danger in full-alert. The whispers in his mind became voices that told him to escape, to run away as fast as possible. Pain exploded in his head.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

The litter, waking up groggily. Gargant, his massive frame tensed like an arrow, his great red eyes fixed forward. And the broodmother, with her arms spread wide, with her smile, with her eyes full of sad resignation.

That image hit Morr's mind like fire, sending his thoughts tumbling down in spirals of fear and desperation.

Then, Gargant pounced.

The blood splattered the wall, its metallic scent exploding in the pit like a warpbomb. The litter exploded in confusion and terror, the ratlings squeaking and escaping in every direction. Gargant and the broodmother fell down in a tangle.

Morr stood still, time seeming to slow for him. He could see the blood spurting out, its scent hitting his nostrils with metallic claws. In his chest, he could feel emptiness. The voices screamed for him to escape, to run.

He did, but forward.

He landed on Gargant's back with a thud, his paws scrambling to grab hold of the black fur. The great ratling thrashed, sending a trail of blood splattering around, but his hold didn't slackened. Morr held with all his strenght as to not be unsaddled. Terror was an alive thing in him, a rain of shards scattering his thoughts in a chaotic mess. He squeaked in terror, but didn't leave his hold.

More out of instinct than for actual planning, he began to climb Gargant's back. His brother kept on trashing, every jolt threatening to send him flying away, but he kept going.

Shards of memory swirled wildly in his head. His ears, Gargant had sensible ears.

"Stop, Gargant! Stop!" Someone called out. Morr didn't understand who it was, all his strenght focused on not being thrown away.

Splurts of blood marred Gargant's head, a ferocious snarl rumbling out of his throat.

Morr winced and stopped when those red eys snapped to him. A paw darted against him, but the broodmother's paw grabbed hold of it.

Gargant snarled in anger, but still didn't remove his teeth. Terrorized, Morr jumped. Gargant swished his tail, and he didn't manage to dodge it. Pain exploded into his head, red stains rushing his vision. He trashed madly in mid-air, just before smashing against Gargant's neck. He managed to barely get a hold of it.

A scream of agony pierced his jumbling thoughts, making him wince. He snarled, chittering. Anger raised inside of him like a hot flame. His aching muscles screamed as he raised himself up, but he didn't care.

He opened his mouth and, with all the strenght that he could still muster, bit down hard on an ear.

Gargant howled in pain, finally releasing the broodmother's neck. Blood covered his muzzle as he turned around like a rabid animal.

Morr managed to maintain his grip for a moment still, his legs twitching madly in search of support. He got a scratch on his shoulder, that made him squeak as pain stabbed his flesh. His hold was lost, just before Gargant's tail smashed against his side, sending him tumbling down.

Battered, body full of aches and pain stabbing through his chest at every breath, Morr tried to get up, but Gargant was on him before he could. Squeaking in terror, Morr rose his paws to protect his face. Gargant pushed them down with a single paw before opening his mouth and chittering angrily at his brother's face.

They remained like that, eyes locked.

Morr felt any strenght flow away from him. His blood felt like ice and the pain was like fire burning in his body.

Still, Gargant's red eyes seemed to swallow anything else.

Morr felt any hope disappear like a flicked off flame as his brother opened his mouth. The stink of blood and flesh hit him like a fist.

Terror burning in his veins, he closed his eyes and chattered, with all the little strenght that he had left.

Then, he waited for the end.

It never came.

After a moment, Morr opened his eyes.

Gargant was watching him, a strange expression on his face. Something seemed to waver in him, like a shadow was leaving him.

Slowly, his eyes retook their usual colour, and his bestial anger melted into marvel. Before Morr's eyes, he seemed to become smaller.

He wavered, his eyes flicking to Morr's injuries. They filled with fear as he looked around.

"I…" He began.

The rest of the litter kept away from him, watching every movement of his with cautious terror.

"I…" He turned to Morr again.

He raised a paw toward him, and Morr flinched back.

That, more than anything else, seemed to hurt him. The two ratlings locked eyes.

A moan attracted their attention.

The broodmother was stirring.

"Mother!"

Forgetting aches and pains, Morr jumped up. Gargant moved out of the way, remaining behind while he ran to the fallen broodmother's side.

"Mother!" The ratling squeaked.

A deep gash raked the point between her shoulder and her neck, blood flowing abundantly from it.

Terrorized, Morr frantically patted around the wound. She was going to die! He had to do something! Anything!

He was pushed away by the rest of the litter, the ratlings moving in a chorus of squeaks and screams, calling for their mother.

Morr stumbled back, barely catching himself. Then, he turned around.

Gargant was immoble like a statue. His glazed eyes were fixed on the wound raking its way over his mother's flesh.

Like he was feeling it, he moved his head, meeting Morr's gaze.

Morr felt fear at meeting those eyes again, but… but he recognized it. That was his brother. His brother.

Gargant's glazed gaze seemed to retake light. His nose twitched as he sniffed. He nodded.

Then, he turned around.

Morr raised a paw toward him, a thousand words running to his mouth, but he didn't speak any of them nor Gargant stopped to listen.

Instead, the great ratling jumped high. A little cascade of dirt fell as his claws sank in the walls of the pit.

Under Morr's dumbstruck eyes, he began to climb.

High and high, he went, without ever slowing, without ever looking back. Over the walls that made up their little happy world, toward the ugly unknown beyond. Over the end of the world, without fear, with courage, relentless.

His brother Gargant.

His brother…

* * *

Morr jolted awake with a yell.

"Gargant!" He yelped, a paw shooting upward.

His fingers grasped nothing but air, and he found himself staring at a ceiling of rock.

He stood there, half-seated on his cot, his heart hammering in his chest. Slowly, his thoughts returned to reality, and he understood where he was.

"I have dreamed it again." He whispered, watching his open palm.

The warm, slick blood of his mother on his paws, his aching muscles, the desperation, the fear. It had looked all so real…

He remained there for a moment, mind mulling over the past. Eventually, he shook himself and got up. The old cot, stuffed with straw and leaves gave a faint rustle as he left it.

The room was little more than a hole, its dimensions only big enough to accomodate the cot, fixed in a niche into the rock, and to allow Morr to move in a cramped way. The only light arrived by a little fuse in a bowl full of fat, deposited in a corner. It was dim, flickering, but for a skaven it was just the right kind of illumination.

Morr stretched himself up, feeling with pleasure joints popping and tensed muscles relaxing. He got up on his tips and stretched his arms until he touched the ceiling. He groped around for a while, until he found two big iron rings protuding from the rock.

He didn't know for what reason they had been put there, even if he could immagine, but, as everything, they might as well be useful for something.

Morr grabbed hold of the rings and began to stretch. Up and down, moving his arms and raising himself up. While he did, his mind kept on mulling over the dream.

Ah, good times those in the pit. Too bad that mother's words didn't hold a candle at what the real world would have been.

Morr made a last flip before returning with his feet down.

"That feels better." He huffed.

There was a little sack beside the bed. He grabbed it and began to rummage inside. There was mostly garbage inside, objects that at first seemed to have become useful but that at later inspection revealed themselves to actually not being it at all. Still, Morr was searching one object in particular and, after a moment of searching, he found it.

The bowl had the square, hard lines of dwarfen architecture. Details were carved on its surface with meticulous precision, but whatever they represented had been worn out by time.

Morr weighted it in his hand for a moment, before tilting him by a side. A little cascade of dirt and dust feel down.

His gaze lingered on the form of the object, more than on the carvings.

A bowl. Like that in the pit.

The past…

He repulsed the memories with a mighty shake. The past was in the past, and that was it. What it mattered was the present. And now he had to go.

He put back the bowl inside and threw the sack over his shoulder. After blowing off the flame of the makeshift candle, he made his way toward the back of the little chamber.

There, a faint outline was barely visible in the rock. Morr grabbed a metal rod that protuded from it and pulled it toward himself. A portion of the wall moved under his efforts, letting a chink of light become visible. He pushed his snout in the fissure, sniffing loudly.

No strange smells. Good.

Satisfied, he let go of the rod and pushed against the wall with both hands. It costed him a bit of effort, but the hidden door moved, swiweling on invisible hinges. It opened on the side of a low tunnel, dirt and debris cluttering the ground.

Morr jumped out, then pushed the door closed again. What it remained was only another tunnel wall like any else.

Morr briefly marveled at how the beard-things were able to build such ingenious hiding spot. His thought tinged itself of spite and envy for the hated enemies, before he moved his mind to more pressing matters.

He began to make his way down the tunnel, keeping his ears well-open.

No more clamours.

Good. That stupid brute had probably had his fill.

A brute… just like Gargant had been…

"Bah!"

The past was in the past. What it mattered was the present. The stupid, boring, dangerous present.

He stopped at the end of tunnel.

Taking a good breath, he straightened himself up. His chest puffed up, his fur stood on an end, his whiskers jutted forward. He wasn't the most intimidating of the skaven, that he knew, but that didn't mean that he couldn't at least try to look bigger.

Grabbing hold of the sack, and of his own determination, he stepped out of the tunnel.


	3. Chapter 3

Snoutdeep was a little settlement at the edge of the territory of Rat Rock, situated under the imperial province known as the Wasteland. A little more than a lair and a little less than a warren, the settlement was one of the many that surrounded the Under-City like a swarm of ratlings around their broodmother.

Its tunnels and halls were unusually large and were given to trade and bartendering. Skaven of all ilks made their shops along dusty, ragged streets, ranging from mangy carpets strewn over the dirt and covered with trinkets to great warehouses from which wagons full of merchandise came and go. Pirats of the Manaanspoort sea, members of the vast criminal underground of Marienburg, crimelords and skaven of other clans made up the clients that were the lifeblood of the warren. Skaven and every kind of wretches and scum mingled into Snoutdeep, crowding its tunnels with their hoarse voices and laughters, with their bartendering and bickering. It was a dangerous place, as every Skaven settlement was, and it was easy to end up with a dagger in one's back, but at the same time it was a place where one could do a quick profit, provided that he played his cards right.

Over this haven of scum, trade and villainy, the Tradelord Skutilik reigned. The clan that he ruled upon, clan Zappik, owned all of Snoutdeep and all of the trade points and store in it. Every skaven vendor was one of his clanrat and dependant, and every trinket they handled and sold belonged to him. His stormvermin, the Blackcoins, were the closest to a security service that the warren had, and were charged with making bloody examples of those that presumed to disturb the peace of Snoutdeep and, more importantly for the Tradelord, to make sure that the clanrats gave their earnings to their master.

The clan even owned exclusive access to the ruins that sprouted around the settlement. Like some kind of ugly tick, Snoutdeep had been founded just beside the extensive ruins left by the Elves on their leaving the Old Worlds millennia ago. To the luck of the skaven, the elves had dug extensively in the shores of the gulf, leaving a network of chambers and halls, and this network had been virtually untouched by the passage of time. It was a veritable mine of artifacts, riches and strange objects that the Zappik could milk at their leisure. Like it wasn't enough, even a dwarf ruin of an ancient fort dating back to the War of the Beard stood beside the settlement, with all its implementations of lost riches to plunder.

This incredibly lucky position, together with the bloody reprimand of would-be plunderers and the accurate keeping of the exact extensions of the ruins at the other clans, had made the fortune of the Tradelord, that had arrived to control the majority of the hidden dealings made with the men-things of Marienburg.

But nothing of that could have, nor actually had, any interest for Morr.

He was making his way through a crowded market-tunnel of the warren. The chatter and the buzz of the dirty crowd mingled with the hoarse voices of the skaven vendors, that called clients to look at their scavenged merchandise. The stink of matted fur mixed with the sweat and poor hygienic conditions of the scum that that warren had for clients.

Eyes flicked at Morr as he passed, lingering for a moment on the object that he clutched, before turning back to look at else. He knew what thoughts passed behind those ugly faces: just a dwarfen pot. No point on risking the blades of the Coins for something so meager.

Just what he hoped.

Slinking through the crowd, he emerged into a large, plaza-like cavern. On a side, a massive rock formation rose to the ceiling, a bustling path circling its base. Caverns small and big dotted its base, each ospiting a store filled with skaven and men-things busy with their trade. Great terraces were dug into the formation, making it into a sort of little stepped pyramid. Each floor emulated the first, with stores and trade points flanking twisting pathways. Roughly hewn stairs and crickety ladders connected each terrace to the others.

Man-thing scum of all kind crowded the plaza at the base of the little mountain and all the pathways. Pirates, spies, dregs, mercenaries moved side by side with skaven of different clans, huddled in groups and busy trading and bartendering, their rough voices rising and falling. The chatter was strong and lively, but when you live into the crowd, you learn to distinguish the differences of its sounds.

In that moment, Morr felt a sort of hushed tone in the atmosphere, a hesitation that spoke of unease and caution. The traces of blood at the center of the plaza, just where the crowd left a little circle of space, like it was repelled by something, told him much about what had happened. It looked like another skaven had bit the dust. The responsible could be only one: chieftain Kabrik; him, his very short-temper and his liking to go around murdering imprudent fools.

Morr watched the traces of blood, his teeth clicking slightly.

It lasted just for a moment, then he turned his back to the scene and resumed his march. Behind him, the crowd moved to pass over the blood.

Morr made his way to a corner of the cavern, where a steep stair rose to the second level of the cavern. Two Coins stood posted at its entrance, and under their bored eyes a little stream of men-things and skaven came and went. The stormvermin brandished big halberds and wore heavy, rusted armor.

Morr made sure of adjusting his posture as he passed beside the sentinels, scuttling low enough as to tickle their pride.

That, and the little coin that he flicked to one of the guard, that he caught readily, made sure that he left them a lot more satisfied than they were.

Always stays on the good side of strong, no matter how much it cost you. That was one of the first lessons he had learned.

Morr scuttled fast over the stairs, moving between the men-things and the other skaven. More than one mocking glance was thrown to his miserable attire, but he studiously ignored it. He had got used to it by now.

He arrived to the second terrace, but didn't stop. Instead he kept going.

Each spot on the terraces was owned, as everything else, by the Tradelord, and assigned based on how much one could bribe, how much one could bring to the coffers with his vendor's skills and in general how much one was on the good graces with the Tradelord himself and his chieftains. The most prized spots were the ones at the base of the pyramid, since they were the most easily reachable by the clients. The more one had to climb to reach his trading spot, the more one was down in the hierarchy of the clan.

Still, it was only the tip of the iceberg of the system ruled by the Tradelord.

After the forth terrace, the stairs were replaced by ladders of wood and ropes. Tying the sack with the bowl at his waist, Morr jumped over a tangle of ropes and began to climb. Very few men-things arrived there, and he crossed only other skaven while climbing. His calloused-covered paws clutched the consumed ropes without pain, and he climbed fast, his arms and legs working seamessly together in hoisting him up.

His destination was the sixth terrace, the last.

Every young clanrat of clan Zappik was expected to partecipate to the pillaging runs in the ruins, organized and led by the chieftains. It was a dangerous job, since both elven and dwarfen ruins were nests of monsters, undead and ghosts, and the chieftains weren't exactly the most attentive about how they used their underlings. It happened often that a skaven ended his days falling into a crack in the earth, devoured by some beast or ripped apart by vengeful spirits of ages past.

Still, those that proved themselves were allowed to stay out of the pillaging and instead were given a seat between the ranks of the vendors of the clan, charged with selling the scavenged trinkets. And, of course, it was expected for them to being sold. To "encourage" his vendors to work their best, the Tradelord loaned to each of them a sum of money, money that had to be spent by the aspirant vendor in bribing chieftains and guards into being "protected" and left alone with their lifes and their merchandise, into buying trinkets and scavenged objects by the pillaging squads, even into buying things brought by the men-things and other skaven clans. The lion's share of the earnings went to the clan, and to the Tradelord, a little part went to the clanrat, that could use it to keep funding his initiative. It was like this that a little merchant caste had been formed, one that the Tradelord could milk for all their worth, since the initial debt was gradually increased with the weight of the Tradelord's authority. They worked for him, and for him they paid. If one couldn't keep up with the payments, they were thrown back into the ruins, into the worst pillaging run and to a very swift death.

With a huff, Morr hoisted himself up and on the last terrace. The sight that welcomed him was depressing to say the least: barely four rickety wooden stands, crowded around a whiff of a road like four old rats around a meagre dinner. Sparse collections of dilapitated trinkets and shards of trinkets covered damp wooden planks, barely held up by wonky pieces of wood. Two of the stands were open, each with a skaven waiting behind it, while the other two were barred, the planks folded and closed.

Morr passed before the first, exchanging a nod with the skaven behind it.

"You lost a big show-spectacle." He said, leaning against the plank and grinning. He was a normal-sized clanrat, his fur a dull hazelnut, unremarkable if not for the big bald spot on the top of his head.

Morr passed his stand and went to the one beside it. Throwing his sack down, he began to unknot the rope holding the planks closed together.

"Who was this time?" He asked, without turning. The other one turned to follow him with his eyes. "Lurk?"

The hazelnut skaven's eyes flicked at the other closed stand for a moment, before he replied.

"Nah." He said, shaking his head. "It was one of the fifth. The Coins said that he didn't pay."

"Kabrik?"

"Yep."

The planks gave a clonk when they went down. Morr pulled them toward himself, adjusting them to form a crickety table.

He put his sack and the bowl over it, then moved around it and put himself behind it.

"What about him?"

He didn't need to say whom he was talking about. The four vendors of the sixth terrace, the most juniors or most downtrodden of the bunch, formed a little group and each of them always made sure of being informed of the others' wellbeing. Not out of affection or camaraderie, obviously, but because they had to put together their coins as to not be swept away by the system. Working together, they managed to somehow scrap by.

"He got a bit of the sniffles." The hazelnut skaven said, then yawned and scratched his bald head. His name was Throttle. "Had to stay put for today. At least that's what he told to me."

Morr nodded, but didn't anwer. He knew that sickness was always a rampaging problem between the skaven. They had only their tough physiche to rely on, and so they had to take the utmost care if even a little thing presented itself. Lurk would have to work double for pay back the hours lost, but it was necessary.

Morr turned to look at the third stand. The vendor behind it, a piebald skaven a dull black and grey, was on his knees on the dirt, his head leaned upon the table. He was snooring noisily.

Whiskers twitching, Morr abandoned his post and went to his. The stand trembled when he smacked it hard with a paw. The sleeping skaven jolted awake with a yelp.

"What-what?" He yelped, head turning around frantically. He stopped as soon as he understood where he was. "Oh, right." He mumbled. He yawned. "Alright, who is-is the smartass that go around waking rats like this?"

His still groggy eyes met Morr's.

"Of-of course it had to be you." He hissed. He yawned again, scratching himself. "What, there had been some big sell? We-we sold everything? We're rich?"

"No, but you will be meat-carrion if you don't do your job."

"Whaaaat? But it was Lurk's turn to…" The piebald skaven's words trailed off at seeing how the forth stand was empty and closed. "Oh, right."

Grumbling, he raised himself from where he laid. As he passed, he made sure of giving a rough push to Morr, making him stumble.

Morr glared at him, but the piebald didn't even turn to aknowledge him, instead keeping on going away from the stands and toward the edge of the terrace.

Throttle snickered.

"I too would be angry-mad." He said. "That place is a nightmare, yes-yes."

Morr didn't reply, instead glaring at the retreating skaven that anwered to the name of Pik. Since nobody liked to have to climb till up there, they had to post someone that would entice clients to come. It wasn't a nice place, since the skaven of the fifth made sure of pelting whoever was on duty with rocks and whatever they had in their paws in that moment, but it was necessary, at least if they wanted to actually sell something. Having a group with which switch duties like those were one of the reasons the group existed at all. Too bad that there were idlers in it.

After a couple of moments, Morr returned to his own stand.

As expected, Throttle had make sure of rustling inside his bag, and, as expected, he had found nothing to entice his interest.

Making sure of glaring at him, and receiving a grin in exchange, Morr grabbed the bag and the bowl and set them on the stand. A little cascade of shiny shards fell on the wood when he tilted the sack down.

Under Throttle's interested gaze, he rustled around the little mound of shards and took hold of one in particular, that looked unremarkable by the others if not for the different markings on it.

Done that, he took place behind the stand.

"Another of yours special delivery?" Throttle asked, his voice a slimy whisper.

"None of your business-affairs."

"Oh, but it is. Aren't we a group?"

"We don't need to talk about our dealings. You know the rules."

"Right, right. The rules."

Throttle didn't pressure the matter, but Morr felt his gaze linger upon him nonetheless.

Down the terrace, the loud voice of Pik announced the start of his shift as their screamer. The screams and the sound of launches of objects by the skaven of the fifth terrace didn't lagged much behind.

Hours passed, interspersed only by Throttle's scratching and yawning.

Leaning against the planks that made up his stand, Morr let himself be lulled into a daze by the sounds of the crowd in the inferior terraces. His thoughts, swirling like a muddled pool kept on returning to the dream he had had that night, and, consequentially, to the past.

No matter how many times he tried to push them back, they always returned there, with the image of Gargant climbing over the pit's walls standing always in preeminence.

As time passed, anger and nervousness crept in him like water from a broken dam. Restless, he paced around.

The past was the past. What it mattered was the present. The present!

To his relief, a client arrived on the terrace.

More, it was just the person he hoped would arrive.

He was a skaven, as all were those that arrived there were, but the black garments covering him and the sneaky way of moving signaled him like an Eshin. A low-ranking member, of course. The good ones were impossible to notice. This one instead seemed to radiate suspiciosness.

He slowly paraded before the stands, red eyes flicking from under the cowl that covered his head.

Morr forced an expressionless mask over his face, but inside he crossed his fingers.

He made a little mental jump when the stranger stopped before his stand, eyes moving at the mound of shards and, more importantly, the one that he had singled out.

"You-you! Vendor!" He hissed.

Morr moved his mask to assume a pleasant disposition.

"Yes-yes, honorable client-lord?"

"This junk!" He gestured with disdain toward the mound of shards, stabbing the air with a finger. "Give it to me-me!"

In his mind, he was probably trying to pass like he was uninterested and maybe with another vendor, he could have managed, but not with Morr. Since he had been brought out of the pit of his childhood, he had learned to distinguish the humours and thoughts of those that he had before him, a talent that he was born with and that time hadn't but sharpened.

Now, he could see it, clear as he could see the semi-hidden face of his would-be client. The slight twitch of his whiskers, the way with which his eyes subtly shifted in the direction of the shards, the barely tensed demeanor. No, it wasn't junk, not for this Eshin. For him, for whatever reason, it was a prized something.

Morr made a mental smirk.

He had learned by long that using one's ears was a good thing. He had taken soon the habit of sneaking around the warren, listening to others' conversation. So, when he had heard of an Eshin running around the warren, asking for a certain kind of shards, and had seen the Eshin in question asking questions about the same shards, it had been easy to make an agreement with one of the scavenger to bring him all the shards that he could find, and that answered roughly to the description he had.

It had been a gamble, of course, a big gamble, since those shards could be anything and all, and he had just a rough descrption, but a lot of things could be used to diminish the chances, included the fact that, since a low-ranking member was the one searching for it he could very well have a rough description of his quarry also. And, of course, the dagger that he had used to remember to the scavenger what would happen if he brought him just shards of glass.

A gamble, yes, but a necessary one.

Now, to see that if had paid off…

"Of-of course, noble client, yes-yes." He said, rubbing his paws together. "We can absolutely reach an agreement, yes?"

The Eshin's gaze faltered slightly.

Oh, yes. It had been a more than profitable gamble.

Some moments later, the Eshin stumbled away, the sack with the shards in his hands and a lot less money in his pockets. Morr snickered softly as he counted the good sum of money that the sell had brought him.

Throttle whistled.

"Good-good job!" His eyes flicked to the money that Morr was counting. "How much, yes?"

Morr glanced with suspicion at him, then pocketed the money.

"None of your business."

"What-what? Come on, we're friends, aren't we? Let me take a little bit…"

"No-no way." Morr backed off, keeping him at a distance. "You're gonna spend it-it all. This one now i bring it all to the chieftain, yes-yes. So we pay for this cycle."

"Is-is so much? Come on, gimme!"

Morr had to push him to send him away.

"I said no!"

Thw two skaven faced each other for a moment, teeth bared.

Throttle backed off after a while, but only because he saw Morr's hand moving to the dagger that he kept at his waist. Morr knew that he wasn't nor big nor threatening enough as having his victory happening in a different way.

The skaven hissed softly as he returned to his stand.

"I'll be back soon-soon." Morr said, leaving his post and going towards the edge of the terrace.

He had barely done ten steps than something bumped him into a side, making him hiss. He turned around sharply. Throttle's eyes meet his. The skaven was hissing, arm still oustretched.

Morr made a hiss of his own, eyes flicking at the stone that now laid in the dirt, before turning and scampering away, this time fast enough as to not leave other throwing chances.

As he arrived at the ladder, he saw Pik strewn by a side, snooring away without a care. Gritting his teeth slightly, Morr ignored him and descended the ladder.

The skaven vendors of the fifth terrace, a little more crowded than its deserted sister, welcomed him with hostile chatters and gazes. Some even threw him a couple of things, that he had to dodge or just took against his raised arms.

He ran along the terrace, head low and arms raised at to cover himself. His side throbbed a dull ache, but he ignored it.

He stopped to retake a bit of breath only once he arrived at the forth terrace. There, the vendors were too busy with the somewhat numerous vendors to actually bother him.

Huffing in annoyance, he dusted himself. His clothes, filthy, half-shredded rags that hanged from his body more than actually cover it, were simply too dirty as to his simply paws could hope to clean them, but it didn't matter. What it mattered to him was to look the more healthy and well-put as possible. In Deepsnout, if you looked weak or too sick, you were more than screwed, you risked of becoming food.

So, he gave himself some poise, and dusted his fur as much as he could. Only done that, he started to walk again.

The money, hidden in the secret pocket inside his pants, seemed to weight a ton as he made his way through the terraces. Morr had the gnawing sensation that everybody was looking at him, knowing something about the little treasure that he brought with himself. It wasn't much, just enough to cower the payment for the four of them for that period, but that he would find himself with his pockets empty the moment that someone realized that he had it with himself, it was more than certainty. That was how Snoutdeep worked.

He couldn't go together with his three "friends" since they would just attract attention, nor they could be actually trusted to be subtle.

The only thing that he could do was trying to sneak about while remaining unnotiaceable as much as possible.

And so he did.

With unease and anxiousness crawling over him with slimy fingers, he made his way down the forth terrace, then the third.

The post of the chieftain Snoutrut, the one charged with collecting the taxes, was before the stairs to the first terrace, a little hut from which he could keep under control the flow of visitors.

Morr kept on making his way between skaven and men-things, now that he had abandoned the superior terraces, a veritable crowd. He felt small between them, and he actually was, since everyone could look down at him, but he did his best as to not let it shown. Anxiousness painted every glance and peek like a danger. It was a throb inside his chest, a little whisper that kept on insinuating on the weakness of his position. Wasn't his gait too tensed? Wasn't the money visible from under his pants? They were going to discover it! They were going to hurt him!

Simple unease was ordering into fear when he stepped down the stairs to the first terrace.

Forcing himself to breath calm and steady through his nose, he looked down the street. Almost there. He could see the last flight. He had just to make a little run and he was home free.

Relief melted the edges of the clump of fear lodged in his chest. He could do it!

He had to pressure himself as to not start running, remaining instead at a fast pace.

Almost there. Almost there.

So close now.

So…

Then it happened.

A big figure jumped out of the crowd, blocking his way. It had appeared so fast that Morr didn't stop in time, instead going to smack against the armor that the figure wore. Pain stabbed his snout like a bolt of lightning and he clutched it, stumbling back with a whimper.

"Well-well. What do we have here."

Still clutching his throbbing nose, Morr raised his eyes to meet the gaze of whom had talked.

His blood seemed to freeze.

Chieftain Kabrik smirked at him. He was a towering stormvermin clad in a armor laced with silver and gold.

It was a messy, but fast affair. There wasn't need for words, nor when the business had been done again and again.

When it was concluded, Kabrik and his stormvermin marched away, laughing hoarsely. A little, tingling sack of money hanged by their chieftain's waist.

Morr laid in the dirt like a doll whose strings had been cut. The skaven and the men-things worked their way around him, not aknowledging him if not for throwing glances full of contempt and derision at his way.

Morr remained there, without conscience for two entire hours. When he came back, it was to a world of pain. All his body ached, pain flowing through it like blood.

Wheezing, he picked himself up slowly, his mind taking stock of the damage that had been done upon him. Those brutes knew how to do a beating. Curses.

When he tried to rise the first time, his right leg gave way as soon as he put weight on it. He fell forward, his paw snatching to steady him a moment before he collapsed again. Shivers flowed through his arm as it absorbed the shock, and he hissed in pain.

He actually realized that he was still in the middle of the street only when a man-thing smacked against it with a leg.

The man, a pirate judging from the attire, cursed at him, without stopping.

Morr didn't answer.

He had noticed the stares that the skaven between the crowd were starting to throw his way.

Wheezing, he dragged himself across the dirt, and towards the stands. He ignored the screams of the skaven that owned them and slipped in the little space between the closest two.

The shadows welcomed him and he dragged himself forward, until he met the rocky wall of the pyramid. There, he threw himself to rest, back against the rock. With a movement that sent ripples of pain running through his chest, he took out his dagger and threw it over his lap. Rats of any dimensions could be arriving for his flesh, and he had to be ready for them.

Exhausted, he leaned against the rock. It was cold, and he schivered as its temperature permeated him with iced fingers.

Still, at least in that hole was relative safe. For the moment.

He wasn't sure for how much time he remained there. For minutes, or hours. It didn't matter really. His head swam, and his thoughts swirled like tadpoles into a pool of mud.

Past and present mixed together, and he was in the midst of it.

Fleeting, that was the word for him, for his existence. He was fleeting, and he knew it. He could try, he could came up with good ideas, he had been the one suggesting for the four of them of joining forces, and he was the one making sure that the payments were actually made, but in the end, what it mattered? He was weak, little, insignificant, always been. The whim of a strong, and he was once again lost, all the fruits of his labor taken away.

He had tried. Horned Rat knew that he had tried. Since he had been thrown out of the pit, he had tried to make a mark, to build something for himself, but the truth was that he was alone, and alone one couldn't do anything at all.

Fleeting. Like a leaf, waiting for the fall to arrive.

Sadness exploded in him like an unbound river. He sobbed, covering his eyes with his paws. Tears fell down on the dirt.

Alone. Alone. Alone.

Brother! Mother! Mother! Mother!

For a long time, he remained there, huddled in the shadows, crying.

Still, eventually the sadness drained away from him and he was left feeling empty like a husk.

Slowly, he wormed his way out of the little hole and into the street. Very few men-things and skaven remained now, and the vendors were closing their shops.

It was time for the mass, he remembered vaguely.

Feeling dry and empty, he looked up, in the direction of the terraces. He didn't want to return, not right now. His "friends" without of doubt would take the chance to gang up on him, giving him the blame for losing the money. Like it could be possible for Kabrik for jumping out like that without having one of them setting him up. Morr knew who it was: Throttle. He had always been jealous of his ideas as well of his methods of keeping money.

In that moment, he couldn't manage to care though.

Feeling like his body was made of lead, he dragged himself the rest of the way to the stairs, and descended down from the terrace.

Seating at his post, Snoutrut glared sideway at him as he passed, but Morr ignored him, together with the silent warning to pay on time.

He dragged himself across the streets of Snoutdeep, almost without looking where he was going.

Only when the Temple of the Horned Rat appeared before his eyes, he actually realized where he was.

The great doors, filling with their bulk the entirety of a cavern's entrance, were open, allowing the crowd of ratmen to spill out of the Temple. As expected, it was packed to the brim. In the distance, the voice of th Grey Seer holding the mass resounded loud and strong.

Morr didn't even tried to make his way in. Instead, he let himself fall by a side of the tunnel leading to the doors, just out of the crowd, and perked his ears to listen.

Obedience, fealty to the Horned Rat, the moment of Ascension is near and with it the beginning of a age of endless prosperity. The Grey Seer was ranting about the usual things, and Morr stopped listening after a little while.

He leaned against the rock, letting his thoughts ran.

The past. It kept on haunting him, but this time he left himself wallow in it.

How much time had passed since that fateful night in which the blood of his mother had been spilled? As for the currency, the skaven of Soutdeep had started to use the chronology of the men-things. So, following that method, it was actually two years and five months. Two years and five months of working relentlessly, first sneaking in the ruins and now making his way through this joke of life that had become his.

Oh, he had been ambitious, always been. He had thought that, even if he was small, he could make his mark all the same. With his wits, with his intelligence, with his learnings. He had tried and tried, worked and committed himself. And everything had ended in nothing. Time and failures had blunted his aspirations, cold realism taking the place earlier filled by youthful eagerness. The only things that he had earned were sickness and fatigue, mocking and beatings. Alone. Alone. Alone. Forever alone. That was the only truth of the skaven.

His mind flew to the past, to the smile of his mother, to the back of Gargant that climbed the end of the world.

He had never returned from that daring expedition. Instead, a ugly, old rat had come, loaded with bandages and medicine. Covered in bloodied scratches, he was, and had put himself to heal the broodmother with the frenzy of someone whose life depended from it.

Had been Gargant to reduce him like that? Morr could absolutely picture him doing something like that. That moron of his brother.

He had never seen him again.

That had been the end for them. The following day, they had been thrown out of the pit and in that blasted world that the skaven inhabited. That he had never known what had happened to his mother had always haunted him.

Morr felt tears resurfacing, but he beat them back with an angry sob. Sadness weighted inside of him like a rock, pulsing together with his heart.

He leaned his head against the rock of the tunnel, his ears barely listening at the far-away ramblings of the Grey Seer.

He was stubborn, he knew that. Hope and defiance were already rising inside of it, but this time he didn't stoke that flame. He felt tired, beaten, like a gnawed bone. He talked smack about his "friends", but in reality they were simply broken. Throttle, Pik, Lurk, they had all lost any hope. What was the point on trying on reaching something better, if that something better was unreachable? Better spend the little that one has at the tavern, or simply snoore away the day. Fleeting. All of them. Was he cursed to become like them? Had he to just let himself fall and die?

Destiny was cruel, that he had learned, and still with him had been crueler. Why gave him hope, if everything had to end always in nothing? Why?

Two little nubs of horns, barely protuding from his temples, so low as the fur covered them completely. They seemed to mock him as he passed his paw over it.

He had hoped for them to grow, he had hoped to…

"Oh, it's useless…" He sighed, letting his paw fall down.

His body ached, throbbing dull. At least it didn't hurt anymore. Tomorrow would though.

He remained there, listening barely at the mass, feeling very alone and very unhappy.

Still, he wondered. Where his family could be. Where his brother could be.


	4. Chapter 4

The light from the plate of fat projected flickering shadows over the statue of the Horned Rat. Gloom seemed to hang and condense under the brow of the God, forming two dark pools where his eyes should have been.

Morr raised his forehead from the ground, returning to a kneeling position. He breathed out the air that he was holding. A soft prayer flicked out from his murmuring mouth, sinking into the dusty air of his hiding spot.

At the end of the string of words, learned by going to the Temple of the Horned Rat with disciplinated regularity, he chittered, his teeth rustling against each other. He closed his eyes, a gesture of complete abandon to the God's plans.

After a moment, he nodded, then jumped on his feet.

His mind was set, the depression of the day before repulsed and forgotten. Traces of it lingered in his mind, like shapes of sharks just under the surface, but he covered it all with his determination.

He wasn't fleeting! He was Morr! He wouldn't yield to those that would see him humbled and writhing in the dust!

He grabbed the little statue of the Horned Rat with a smile. The Horned God's visage was stern and ruthless, but he felt like He was nodding in approval of his new state of mind.

The Grey Seers taught to their flock to be obedient, to follow the mass and to obey, but they even approved of those that distinguished himself and thrived over the others, be this done by brain or brawn. Morr had taken that lesson in stride. He was ambitious, spiteful, and he would see his oppressors cast down at his feet. He would be the one triumphant! There was the determination to rise inside of him and, he was sure of it, even the blessing of the Horned God.

He felt fire burning into his chest as he put down the statue in the hidden niche in the floor. His most prized possessions were there, hidden even inside his hiding spot. In Skavendom, it paid being paranoid. He had learned that by now. Everybody that was a Skaven was an enemy, everybody that was furred was out for his well-being and to crash the others'.

Morr delicately laid the brass statue into the wet, rotten straw that he had massed into the niche. He curled up his nose at the smell. Surely, the Horned Rat's visage deserved better than a stinking pit? Regretfully, though, he had not other place where to hide it.

As he drawed back his arms, his fingers brushed against the other objects piled up into the hole.

A shiver crawled through his arm.

He froze, his eyes flicking to the object that he had brushed.

He hesitated for a moment,whiskers twitching slightly, before reaching down and grabbing it.

Dust and dirt fell from the hefty book as he raised it.

He turned it around into his paws. On the front, the triangular emblem of the Horned Rat peeked out from stains and grazes. Morr brushed the clawed-out lines with his fingers, gazing deeply to them.

His most prized possession.

A grimoire.

It had ended into his possession almost by chance, falling into his hands during one of his most earlier forays into the ruins as a scavenger. He had risked neck and tail to keep it hidden and another time to bring it into his lair.

Still, a mix of emotions had always kept him from opening it.

Morr caressed the hard-leather, ruined surface, unsure.

He had imaginated a thousand times in his mind what the contents of that book could be. He had imaginated spells that could shatter the earth and send his enemies flying into pieces, beams of eldritch light exploding from his eyes to set foes aflame. He had imaginated the power, and his victory. That had to be the symbol of how the Horned Rat wanted him to uncover his gifts and blessing.

Still, fear gripped him.

What if it was just a shame? What if it wasn't a grimoire, but just, he didn't know, an accounting book? After all, he had concluded that it was a book of spells only by watching the one handled by the Grey Seer, from the striking similarities between them. More, what if he was unworthy of the gift of magic? What if the Horned Rat deemed that the pathetic stubs on his head were only that, the promise of something that was destined to never come?

Anxiety gripped his heart.

He fiddled with a book for a moment still, before hurriedly stuffing it back where he had taken it.

He would always had time for try and read his content. It wasn't like he could go anywhere else. And then, it wasn't like that you could just pick up alone magic. You needed a master first, and he needed his horns to grow later. And then, he had a lot more pressing matter to busy himself with.

The grip in his chest disappeared instantly as he entertained those thoughts. He nodded. Yes, he had to wait for the right moment. He couldn't just risk his fur by practicing powers that he couldn't understand nor control.

Yes, that was the right way, the prudent way.

Pleased with his cautious resolution, he dragged the wooden plank over the hole and covered it back with dirt and earth. Again, security. One couldn't ever had enough of it.

Done that, he exited from his hiding spot and gingerly made his way through the tunnels, toward the warren.

He made sure of tracing a twisting way with his steps, moving in and out of tunnels and entrances. He did that to make sure that his scent covered as much ground as possible, making the act of tracking the way to his hideout a very difficult endeavor. Nobody really cared about him, since any able-bodied skaven vendor of Zappik had his own little hiding spot, a privilege from their superior rank, and all the others were richer than him, but, again, paranoia paid off when you were a Skaven between Skaven.

It was a time-consuming thing, but it was necessary so he paid no heed to it.

Snoutdeep was crowded and full of activity as ever, the clamour of bartering and trade filling every corner of the warren.

Morr advanced through the crowd with head raised, ignoring all the glances thrown his direction. Very fewer than his earlier trip, since, this time, he had nothing but himself and a worn-out backpack with him.

He marched through the crowded street of the settlement, straight to the post where Chieftain Snoutrut kept guard over the entrance of the terraces.

The large black-furred grimaced in annoyance at being disturbed. He was trying to piece back together a puzzle-like piece of elven art. It had been scavenged into the elven part of the ruin and the Tradelord himself had put a reward for anyone that would have been able to put it back together. Or at least, that's what the lord said while handing it over to Snoutrut. The other chieftains were laughing their asses off at the time, for some reason he still couldn't figure out.

Snoutrut's annoyance quickly changed into bewilderement when he heard the runt's unusual request.

"You want to return-go into the scavenging runs?" He asked, eyes wide.

Keeping a more than appropriate low posture, Morr nodded eagerly.

"Yes-yes, Most Watchful of Watchers."

Snoutrut balked. One could almost hear the whirring of the gears inside of his head while he tried to understand.

"Why?" He asked, scratching his head. "Aren't you a vendor? Isn't better than going scavenging-sneaking?"

Morr clutched a hand in the other, smiling pleasingly.

"Most just of questions, Your Watchfullness. I thought that if i-i go in the scavenging, i could avoid having to pay-pay for my trinkets. And so i would make more money-coins. You clearly see what it could become out of it, yes-yes."

Snoutrut stared at him dumbly.

"I would give the money-coins to you, yes-yes."

"Oh… oh!"

Realization flashed in the big stormvermin's eyes, followed by greed. It was an obvious bribe, but that was the Skaven way. Snoutrut glanced left to right briefly, before leaning in, his features alight with greed.

"You think you will be able to find-smell for many things?"

Morr nodded eagerly.

It was a risk. More, it was a big risk.

Going in a scavenging run was dangerous, potentially lethal. Going alone, ever more.

But what else he could do?

It wasn't a problem for him to just return to his "friends", take their beatings and at the same time trying to slash that traitor Throttle's face off. Or, even better, wait for the right moment and then send him tumbling down from the terrace. He had enough patience to endure that, and even more. The problem was that right now he was marked as the most vulnerable. His "friends" could very well rob him and leave him to fend for himself, giving him all the fault for losing the money. He couldn't have that. As annoying it was, he couldn't ever keep up with the payments with the Tradelord all by himself. He needed a group with which to work. A clanrat alone was a dead clanrat, in every skaven clan.

So, the only remaining thing to do was to make money, fast.

No Skaven vendor of Snoutdeep returned into the ruins, the memories of dangers and risk of death keeping them fanatically attached to their new, more stable, roles. For what he knew, nobody had ever gone back in there again just to cut some expense.

Still, he had no other choice. If he could find some precious thing, smuggle it to some client, be it even other skaven vendors, be it even out of Snoutdeep, he could make big money, without having to pay any other scavenger to bring him the merchandise.

He wasn't sure if his initiative would be welcomed by the Tradelord, since it was a break from the traditions, so he counted to have only a couple of shot to it before having to pull back, but, if he managed to make some money fast, to pay the bribe to Snoutrut, repay his friends and maybe put something aside for himself, his problems would be resolved, in fact, he could start anew!

Yes, he would have to work a lot, and have big luck, but he felt that he could do this. How difficult it could be? He already had experience with scavenging, and with no competitors, it would have been even easier to find something good. Yes, he could do it!

"I can do it… I can do it…"

That little chant accompanied him as he crossed the borders of the warren and settled feet into the abbandoned tunnels.

The Stormvermin posted at the entrance of the tunnels recognized him and he had only to make Snoutrut's name to pass. The two guards just exchanged a glance and shrugged. A clanrat going alone in the tunnels? It had already happened with some failed vendors. Nothing new there.

As Morr advanced, the acrid smells of Skaven's life left the place to the somber shades of deserted places. The chatter of the crowd was replaced by unnerving, heavy silence.

The hopeful determination that had been fuelling Morr's gait regressed more and more, and was replaced by less boastful feelings.

The clanrat advanced with caution, his eyes flicking at any shadow.

As he progressed, the walls of dirt were replaced by smooth, grey stones perfectly posed one over the others. Curiosity breaching through his wariness, Morr left his palm brush over their surface. He barely could feel the fissures between blocks. Once again, the construction abilities of the dwarfthings roused both admiration and envy inside of him.

But he had no time for sight-seeing right now.

A series of studs, made of rock laced with warpstone, had been embedded into the otherwise unmarred walls. They glowed with sickly, black-greenish light, giving off just the perfect kind of gloom that a Skaven needed to see well. They marked, together with the lines of smashed stone doors, the territory in the fort explored and pillaged by the skaven. It wasn't much, since Snoutdeep and its operations, as far as he knew, was a relatively recent undertaking and the dwarves-things' places were hard to crack open.

Morr advanced swiftly enough, not giving attention to the branching pathways if not for wary glances in their shadows. Soon enough, right on the threshold of a big doorway, the trail of studs ended. The doors, hulking slabs of bronze and iron had been partially divested by their hinges, allowing for a fissure to appear between them. Beyond, Morr could see only darkness.

He stopped and swallowed. Just looking at it, from beyond the doors, sent shivers running all along his skin and make his knees feel weak.

He shook his head, repelling those ugly thoughts. He had come here first because he had the most experience with the dwarfen ruins. What was the point of it all if he let fear overhelm him?

Setting himself, he set his pack down. He took out from it a glowing rock, a souvenir from his days as a scavenger, and his dagger. The weapon felt light in his hand, even if unwieldy. He had never been particularly good with it, but let someone come near him and he would stick him good!

Alone in those tunnels, that thought didn't come out as strong as he intended for it.

Throwing the pack over his back, armed with the rock in his left paw and with the dagger in his right paw, he advanced toward the semi-dislodged doors. The fissure was minute, and he had to squeeze to pass through it, but eventually he came out the other side.

The silence in the tunnels had been ominous, but here, here it seemed to have a life of its own as it laid over him like a shroud.

Morr found himself into a large corridor, its walls made-up of the same, perfectly interlocked blocks he had already seen. Still, here the darkness was a lot more thicker, and he had to rely on the glow of the stone to make up his sorroundings.

Morr swallowed. Suddenly, all his plans seemed a lot more foolish. Who the hell went alone in such a place? Who knew whom he could end up meeting?

The shadow of fear fell upon his thoughts, and he actually considered of turning tail and running for safety. Still, the images of the day earlier flash through his mind. The smirk of Kabrik. The beatings he had taken. The indolent gaze of Throttle.

Morr's resolve hardened. He would make see to them who the hell he was. They would all see! All of them!

He erupted into a running jog, before stopping abruptly ten feet later, realizing what he was doing.

Whoa there, Morr! It was alright to be enthusiast, but the prudence had to arrive before than anything else.

Returning to a more cautious pace, he resumed his advance.

He held the glowstone, one of the many implement used by the scavenger, before him. As he advanced, the shadows retreated before him, flickering softly under the glow of the stone. The air was dry and musty, and with each step, Morr could feel a thick carpet of dust under his feet. That place had been untouched by long, long time.

A soft kind of exhilaration filled him, the feeling of the explorer to first put foot into an unexplorated land. Fear and anxiety stood on the other side. Morr had the impression of seeing forms moving into the retreating shadow, but, every time he snapped the glow high to see better, his eyes met only emptiness. Every sound made him jump. Frost shivers ran through his back, while his heart beat frantically. And still, he couldn't see what had provoked the sound, nor how close it was. He could only keeping on advancing.

Soon, he was covered in sweat.

The corridor, as it was custom for the dwarves, or at least, for that specific fort, were bare of any furnishing. The only things hanging by the otherwise bare walls were tatters of banners, so consumed by time that of them only dust-soaked, grey wrecks remained. Morr tried to touch one, but it crumbled into dust as soon as his paw brushed against it, inundating him with a cloud of grey powder and almost making him die of fright.

He sneezed hard, and kept sneezing even after the cloud had dissipated, his fingers keeping on finding dust in his nose no matter how many times he tried to clean it. After that, he barred himself from touching other banners, no matter how well-preserved they looked.

After a while that he walked, a stone door stopped the monotony of the wall.

He advanced toward it. He kept on glancing left and right, almost expecting to see something jump out of the shadow. He couldn't see the doors anymore.

"Stay calm now…" He whispered to himself. In the ominous silence, his voice seemed to boom like a thunder, and made him jump and look wildly around.

He sighed in mild relief when everything remained the same.

Gathering back his courage, he turned his attention to the door.

It was, as everything inside that place, made of compact grey stone. In fact, it was made of a single slab that seemed as solid as the mountains and heavy as much. An emblem that he didn't recognize was carved into its center.

Morr began by trying and pushing it open. It didn't budge of an inch, but he expected it. The dwarves-things knew how to make their things open, and they knew how to make them stay close. Even him had found the way to open his hiding spot only by chance.

Morr put down stone and knife, and pushed himself against the door. It was cold, and sent shiver running through his body, but he ignored them. He examined it scrupulously, his fingers probing inch by inch in search of buttons and the like. He didn't find any, so he pushed his ear against the cold stone and started to knock softly, searching for voids.

His heart leapt when he found one.

He probed with his fingers around that points and, there!, invisible to the eyes, he could feel tiny fissures. He fumbled over it for a while, trying to jab one of his nails in it. He tried multiple times, each with his finger slipping before he could take a hold.

He sneered, and put down his bag, then returned to it with a vengeance.

His thumb had the longer, thinner nail, but it was difficult to move it into a good position. Now, if only he could…

Morr felt his heart jump into his chest when his nail grabbed hold of a fissure. In the deep gloom it was difficult to see it, but he was sure that the rock was moving. It was some sort of compartment, closed by a lid. He pushed against it, trying to pry it open. He ignored the pain that burned through his finger, and pushed and pushed until…

Clack

The stone gave way and he stumbled backward, almost ending on his butt.

Still, he was once again against the door in a heartbeat, his paw sinking into the now open compartment.

He held his breath at feeling a sort of switch under his fingers. He fumbled with it for a bit, found how it worked, switched it off and…

Nothing.

He remained to listen to his frantic heart and breath, the only things breaking the silence.

He pushed against the door.

Nothing. It didn't budge.

He stepped back, scratching his head.

There was something else to do?

With caution, he pushed his hand against the door. By now, it was starting to get warm by his touch. He probed around once again, searching for some kind of answer to that riddle. And, sure enough, one of the components that formed the emblem was now mobile.

Enthusiasm picking up, he pushed and probed, until part of the emblem gave up under his fingers and retrated inside the door with a sound of grinding rock.

Another compartment clacked open with a snap, right at the center of the embled. Inside, despite all the gloom, he could see clearly that there was a key.

For a moment, he held his breath. Then, slowly, he pushed his paw inside.

It was deeper that it looked, and he had to push until his wrist to finally grab hold of the key.

Full of anticipation, he fiddled with it, until he found a way to make it rotate. Slowly, ever so slowly, the key rotated into the lock. Morr could hear grinding of gears and shifting of stones.

The compartment closed over his hand.

Morr squeaked, enthusiasm and expectations exploding into terror as crushing pain enveloped his hand.

He tried to pry it free, but, to his horror, he couldn'tt. It was like the stones had swallowed his hand. And he could still hear the grinding of gears.

Wheezing and gasping, he pulled with all his strenght. The stone didn't budge of an inch. Terrorized, he pushed his foot against the stone and pulled again, pulled with disperation to fuel his motions. Pain was like liquid fire exploding through his hand and shooting through his arm. He couldn't free himself! He couldn't!

Then, it ended. The iron-hard clench around his hand slackened suddenly and Morr, pushed by his own momentum, was driven back sharply, lost his balance and fell down on the hard floor. More pain shoot up his back, but he almost didn't pay mind to it as he his previously entrapped hand jolted to his chest.

He remained there, eyes widened, flecks of dust raining around and over him, wheezing. His heart beat thunderously into his ears and his blood ran like liquid fire.

Only after a while he managed to regain enough of his wits as to actually look to his paw.

It was still whole, even if paralyzing pain ran through it. Scratches marred the skin, and Morr could see a bruise already forming underneath the fur. He tried to move the fingers, but gave up immediately when he earned a burning stab for his efforts.

Clutching his wrist, he dragged himself away from the door and to the wall.

Swallowing, he set himself against it and tried to keep his hand as much immobile as possible, waiting for the pain to pass.

He had to wait for a bit, minutes maybe, voiceless, terrified thoughts running through his mind.

It was only when the pain started to subside that he allowed himself to hope.

Slowly, he raised his hand and tried to move his fingers. It hurt, but they bent, even if shakily.

Morr sighed shakily in relief. He was covered in sweat. That had been so scary!

He was about to return to recuperate his implements, when he froze, nose twitching.

He felt a smell.

Smell of death.

Slowly, as a frigid grip clutched his heart, he turned his head to the corridor, following the scent.

There was a soft glow there in the distance, where before there had been only shadows. Morr's ear twitched as he picked up whispers trailing into the stale air.

He felt cold. Something was coming.

He acted out of instict.

Scooping up the backpack, the knife and the glowstone, he pushed up against the door, desperately scrabbling to open it.

The whispers became stronger, tickling his ears like a frigid wind. Morr felt his neck fur stand on attention, and redoubled his efforts.

He pushed and probed, scratched and stomped, but it was all in vain. He was more likely to dislodge a mountain from its roots than opening up that cursed door.

Sounds of steps echoed into the corridor. Slow, they were, the gait of something that had no hurry to arrive to destination.

Morr abandoned the door and drew back into the corridor. Bone-chilling dread flowed through him as he watched the glow getting closer. It was a ghastly shade of grey, and it was getting closer closer closer.

Eyes widened, chest heaving fast, Morr stepped back. Tendrils of cold crept up over his fur. He felt like his legs were made of lead.

As he watched with terrified fascination, a figure appeared into the glow.

It was a dwarf, short and stout, dressed in the finery of miners, and he walked forward slowly. Still, it was like he was made of fog, his feet moving too slow for the speed with which he was advancing. He held a lantern by a chain, a ghostly flame burning in it.

Morr opened his mouth, but no words escaped from it. Terror gripped him like a ratling held by a snake. He couldn't move. He couldn't breath.

Two pinpricks of light burned where the dwarf eyes should have been.

The whispers were a chorus now, scrabbling against his mind like a tide of greedy rats.

Morr stumbled. He wanted to run. He had to run, but he couldn't move. He couldn' move.

The dwarf was closer now, his steps making no sound as he advanced. The glow emanated by the lantern, but it was around him too, a nimbus of silent light.

His empty eyes glowed and Morr felt himself drawn by them.

Down and down he was drawn, the corridor twisting and collapsing under his feet. He fell, the darkness opening like a pit to swallow him.

He fell and fell, his mind and body lost and adrift.

A mountain towered before him, tall enough to touch the vault of heaven. A visage was etched on it, an angry face formed by boulders and crags. A massive crack was its mouth and it opened as he dashed towards it.

Terror encompassed him in mind-numbing intensity. His thoughts swirled around, dractured, and he couldn't talk, couldn't think.

He plunged into the crack and the earth enveloped him.

The mountain's weight fell over him, and he was mercilessly crushed. Thousands, milions of rocks were bearing down on him. He was flattened, splintered, ripped apart by jaws made of stone and hatred, unyielding defiance and endless anger.

He was lost, drown down into the earth, together with roots and minerals, dead and darkness. He tried to call for help, but his mouth was filled with gravel. He tried to beg for mercy but he had no voice and no body. He was a stone tossed into the abyss. His soul hardened into rock, he was part of earth and the earth made him up.

Terror disappeared like a smothered flame. Quiet filled him.

He felt… peace.

Drowsiness fell over him like a blanket, but he repelled it.

He thrashed and twisted, each movement making a spark spring up inside of his fossilized soul. Soon, he was a burning rock, a defiant ember that refused to be still.

He kept moving, and realized that he had limbs once again, flesh once again. Pain burned through him like fire, but he relished it, because it meant that he was alive.

He scratched and kicked, digging through the soil that imprisoned him. He had to free himself. He wanted to free himself.

Little by little, the weight crushing over him slackened. Rays of light stabbed through the darkness.

Anger fuelling him, he pushed with all his might. The rock that imprisoned him held for a moment, before giving up with a splinter of stone and dirt.

Morr emerged into the light with a gasp.

He spluttered and wheezed, dirt filling his mouth. Nausea filled his stomach, and he barely managed to turn around before vomiting everything.

He remained there, keeping on heaving even when his stomach was empty. Only slowly his mind stopped swirling.

He raised himself slowly, the world turning one time again before settling into definite forms.

He was inside a low stone chamber. The walls and the ceiling were smooth sand-coloured stone, with no fissures or cracks. There was some form of light, coming from above. It was cold in there. His breath came out into little cloud of fog.

Morr surveyed the scene slowly, his mind still dizzy. He turned around and terror spiked inside of him. There was a skeleton just beside him.

In fact, he realized with horror, he was inside a tomb-like, shallow hole, with the earth half covering him.

Hurriedly, he jumped out, sending dirt and gravel scattering all around. He squeaked in dread when the skeleton shifted, but it was only because it hadn't his body holding it up anymore. The skeleton slumped, and Morr drew back, mind reeling with horror.

He remained there for a couple of moments, heart hammering and eyes dashing around. Nothing, material or immaterial showed up, and so he managed to regain some semblance of twitchy calm.

He still held the glowstone and the dagger, he noticed, and his backpack was still on his back. He clutched those simble objects like they were some family heirlooms. They managed to give him at least some kind of comfort.

A soft glint from the skeleton drew his attention.

His eyes widened at seeing the jevelled crown that it wore on its head.

Out of instict, he advanced, and gave to the corpse his very good look.

It was completely devoid of flesh, all grey bones and ripped fabric. Even if still half-buried, Morr could see the impressive finery that he wore, some sort of tunic woven with silvery threads.

Avidity overriding fear, Morr drew close and kneeled beside the skeleton. He started to remove the dirt. The more he uncovered, the more his marvel and excitation grew. That corpse was a true mine of treasures!

Aside from the tunic, more than a robe actually, whose fabric he didn't recognize, a heavy, iron belt studded with red gems adorned its sides. His equally iron boots were embossed with gold and silver. Over its chest, now turned aside by heaving the grave, laid a big, round shield in wood and metal. Heavy decorations once again in gold and silver ornated its front, forming a runic emblem of some forgotten clan. Together with it, there was an axe, completely made in bronze and iron, with elaborated carving adorning the blade. The leather of the handle had long been consumed by the ravages of time, but it didn't diminish of an ounce the beauty of the weapon. In awe, Morr stretched a paw to grab it. He had to yank it away, since the fingers of the skeleton were holding it into a vice, but when he did it, and observed it more closely, he was completely blown away.

A rune, etched into the blade, glinted before his eyes like its lines were made of liquid fire.

That… that was a runic weapon!

Excitation flooded him. Runic weapons were the most prized of the dwarf-things possessions and every skaven warlord reame of having one of them. With this, he could enter in the grace of the Tradelord himself!

Full of manic energy, he got to work. After unearthing the skeleton completely, he took from it everything that looked valuable. The tunic, the belt, the axe, the shield and the crowd. Everything that could, went into his backpack, the rest he hang it to his back and to his waist. Gems big as his nails, red and even azure, that he found into the tunis's pockets, went into the pockets of his own ragged pants.

He found himself fully loaded, but it was the weight of riches so it was a sweet weight to carry.

Humming happily, he turned around, and made to leave.

And stopped.

How the hell was he supposed to leave?

Terror's cold fingers clutched his heart. He rushed to the wall before him and searched for an exit.

Nothing. It was firm as a mountain's wall.

Morr turned around, back to the wall. The expression "cornered rat" flashed through his mind, together with rising panic.

Still, he forced himself to think.

He had been brought inside. Surely there was a way out?

He was thinking about it, when his eyes fell over the unearthed tomb.

It was then that what had happened flash back into his mind. The ghost. The visions. He… he had been buried alive!

His knees buckled and he fell down, all the stuff he was loaded with clattering heavily.

Trembling, he raised his hands and wiped his eyes, trying to stym the flow of tears. He remained like that for a bit, just sobbing and whimpering, before regaining a form of calm.

When he felt better, or at least, good enough to walk, he dragged himself up on his feet. He couldn't linger much in there. Who knew what other devilry could come out from the shadows?

Trying to repress ugly thoughts of ghost and fear, he began to examine the room, searching for an exit, or an entrance. He was confindent that even a little hole was enough for him to squeeze through, but, to his displeasure, he found none. The walls were smooth and compact like that chamber had been dug from a single block.

He cursed the dwarves-things' enginery prowess. Why the hell those stupid things had to build such stupid things? Curse them!

He was brooding in angry fear, when a thought hit him. The light. Where it was coming from?

He raised his head, and his heart leapt. A hole! There was a hole in the ceiling!

With renewed enthusiasm, he began to move around, trying to get a good angle of vision. The chamber had a low ceiling, apt to the dwarves-things' height, but, he noticed, the hole was higher than it looked. The light fell down into the tomb, he shivered at the thought, from the top of a pit.

Still, he could work with that.

Putting down his backpack, Morr rustled in it, until he found what he was searching for. The rope was worn-out from use, but it was still strong. He held it into his paws with shaky satisfaction.

Now, to find something to use as a weight…

The crown he had pillaged was the final choice. It was heavy and had the right form to attach itself to something. He tied it to the end of the rope.

Stepping back, he began to rotate it, making the crown circling into the air.

A snicker managed to break through his anxiety. Who knew what kind of face the beard-things would do if they saw him use their things like that?

He cut off that thought immediate after having formulated it. That place was haunted. It was better not linger over such thoughts.

With a swing and a grunt, the crown was flung into the air.

Morr watched with expectation as it went up and up and up. But then, it clinked against the wall of the pit and began to feel down again.

Morr managed just in time to move aside, the object clanking heavily an inch away from his foot.

Breathing shakily, he picked it up and tried again.

This time the launch was true, and the crown disapperead over the edge of the pit. Morr heard the clank of iron against stone, then, after a moment full of expectation, tried to pull.

The rope flapped, but held. Morr pulled harder, then jumped and grabbed it, pulling with all his body weight. The rope strained, and held.

"Good… good…" He breathed, putting down his backpack.

He tied the last end of the rope to it, then, after taking a few gems as safekeeping, he jumped on the rope and started to climb.

As a Skaven, he had good climbing abilities by default. As a Skaven that made sure of training every day, he had very good climbing abilities.

Still, he had to fight with vertigo as he climbed, since that pit was a lot more taller than it looked like from inside. He climbed as fast as he could while trying to not strain the rope too much. He really didn't want to end splattered onto the stone.

It was a nerve-wracking esperience that covered him with sweat, but eventually he managed to reach the peak.

He exited into an vast hall, relief exploding inside of him like a warpbomb. Even still wheezing, he went on all four and started to kiss the dusty floor like it was a lover long lost. He was saved! He was out!

He rested for a bit, then went back to work.

Pulling up the treasure costed him rivers of sweat and a mountain of effort. It was heavy, even if, thankfully, not heavier than him. But it was worth it, and he endured it, cursing and chittering loudly at every second of searing pain that burned his arms, legs and chest.

He strained more than a muscle, but, eventually, his efforts were repayed, and the backpack and the riches emerged from the pit. He heaved it up with a grunt then let it fall down.

He allowed himself a moment of rest. All his muscles ached, his lungs burned and his coat felt heavy with sweat, but still he smirked. He had done it!

Still, he couldn't linger.

Throwing the backpack up his back, he started his march back.

Finding the way back was, thankfully, a tranquill and easy affair. He advanced as cautiously as possible, almost expecting to see another ghost beyond every corner, but nothing appeared to bar his way, be it magical, unmaterial or material. The halls were silent.

Following his own scent, he walked steadily, chittering at every pain that marred his battered body. When the great doors finally appeared into the distance, he couldn't hold himself. Ignoring pains and aches, he started into a fast jog.

He didn't stop until he was on the other side, and then it was like a giant boulder had been pulled away from his chest. The burning sensation of having someone whispering right to the back of his neck finally wanished and Morr finally allowed himself to breath with relief.

He made a pause to drink some water and to take a bite from the smoked meat he had brought with himself, then started his journey anew.

He felt exhausted, all his body ached and he barely managed to put a foot after the other, but nonetheless he smirked wide and felt a vicious happiness.

He had risked his neck, but with what results!

He was rich! Rich!

He couldn't wait to return to Snoutdeep and show everybody what had he found! He could pay back his "friends", finally ditch them, pay back Snoutrut and even, even bring his gifts to the Tradelord himself! He could open up his new shop! Oh, he could already imagine their face when he showed up with his new riches! Even Kabrak, that prick, would be envious! Yes!

He was so taken by his dreams that didn't notice them until they ambushed him.

There was even Throttle with Kabrak and his goons this time. Since they had to wait much for Morr to return, they made sure of taking their time with him. They marveled at all the treasures that Morr had found, before taking them away. They beat him up throughly, punching, scratching and kicking him. They lacerated one of his ear and ripped out part of his whiskers. Kabrak was the most ferocious, stomping down on his hand and almost breaking it when he tried to defend himself.

They left him laying in the dirt, their laughters echoing long in the tunnels even when they were disappeared.

Morr remained immobile for minutes, his body too battered for him to even attempt to move. Eventually, shakily, he drawed his clutched paw to his face. He opened his fingers, letting his gaze fall upon the only gem he had managed to keep hold of. It was little, the size of the nail of his pinky, but with it he could pay back Snoutrut at least.

He slowly dragged himself up. He couldn't feel his hand, but at least he hadn't nothing broken.

He had been lucky.

He needed a long time to return to his hiding hole, his path slowed down by him countinously having to stop to rest or to wait for the pain to recede.

When he was safe again, a strange impulse brought him to uncover the book that he had hidden and to open it. He had learned how to read by working for a vendor, and so he read without difficulty.

It was an accountant book.

He threw it away without a word, then threw himself on the bed.

The time of closing his eyes and he had already fallen into sleep, made stormy by nightmares of great shades bearing down from heaven, angry faces and earth crushing him.


	5. Chapter 5

When Morr woke up, full eight hours later, he was full of aches, he had a splitting headache and patches of bruises covered large swathes his skin. Images of angry, rocky faces and looming shapes swam through his thoughts. His hand throbbed painfully and he had problems moving his fingers.

And still, as much as his body was a mess, his mind was a furnace of angry, frenetic activity.

With barely a glance at his sorroundings, and none at the book strewn on the ground, he stormed out of his hiding spot, backpack and what little equipment he had already on his person. In fact, it was only thanks to the fact that he had fallen asleep with everything on him that he actually brought it with himself.

His thoughts were a jumble of pure anger. He felt fire burning in his lungs as he aggressively wobbled his way through the tunnels and then through Snoutdeep. He barely aknowledged the crowd through which he made his way, as he barely registered falling down after smashing against another Skaven. He just went back up and rushed away, barely a thought for the angered chitter that chased him.

The journey through the settlement blazed at the outskirt of his senses like a half-remembered dream. He eventually came to his senses only a lot after, after having passed through the confines of the warren and well on his way to the elven ruins.

It wasn't lucidity to finally reach him, but hunger. It stabbed through the haze covering his thoughts like a gnawing blade thrusted in his belly. He stopped abruptly, his hand running to his stomach just as a rumbling sound came out of it.

Right, he hadn't eaten nothing yet.

Only in that moment he actually realized where he was. He looked around, marveling at how far he had gone without actually realizing it.

His surprise quickly turned into irritated aknowledgement. Well, better like that. He had a work to do.

But first, he had to eat.

He felt frustrated irritation at realizing of having the backpack still on his back, and not for his own merit, but he pushed it back swiftly. He didn't want any more thoughts running through his mind, not in that moment.

With angry, sharp gestures, he opened the backpack and took out the salted meat that he had prepared for the day earlier. It was a big supply, enough to last him for more than two days, but bringing a surplus was only common sense when you were a ratman. When a Skaven ended under heavy distress, like it happened to him, he could end up devouring through his reserve of fat and energy like a rat through cheese. It was from that that the famed Black Hunger originated from.

Morr gulped down the strips of meat like they were his mortal enemies, making sure of crunching and munching thoroughly each and everyone of them. As he ate, no thoughts ran through his head. There was only a ember, seated deep at the center of his mind, a barely constrained fire of anger and manic energy, a push to tear and cleave, to do and avenge. It was a primal, voiceless thing, and he let it fester.

It sat well with him.

The trials of the earlier day had taken his toll on him and he found himself passing through the entirety of his supply of food. For a moment, despite the pangs of hunger, he hesitated on keeping on eating, the thought of having to put something on reserve stopping him. He let it sink away with irritation just a second after, together with the rest of the meat. He didn't need that, not in that moment, nor he did care.

The meat eased his hunger, but not his ire, and he resumed his half-hobbling, half-stomping path almost as soon as his jaws stopped working.

The elven side of the ruins sorrounding Snoutdeep were more heavily guarded than their dwarfen twin, being much larger, but even this time, the guards didn't regard the angry clanrat stomping by with much more than curious or suspicious glances. This time, though, Morr didn't have calculated well the time of his incursions, and he crossed way with a band of scavengers on their way back.

They were a sorry bunch; mangy, flea-infested young skaven in rags dragging behind themselves sacks with their meager haul of the day. A corpulent taskmaster in the colours of the clan watched them parading by, chittering appreciatively each time the clinking content of a sack was emptied upon the large table he was seated behind.

As Morr stomped past, thoughts of selfconscience darted through his anger. Glances were thrown his way and quizzical chitters were exchanged. The taskmaster gestured to one of the Stormvermin overseeing the operation.

Snarling softly, the brute waded through the little crowd and towards Morr.

Even as angry as he was, he knew when it was the time to not do stupid things, and he assumed a more appropriate slinking demeanor, keeping the urge of just stomping past at bay.

Barely.

"You-you, vermin." The stormvermin said with a raspy voice, blocking his way. "Where you think you're going-skulking?"

Morr felt a stab of hatred for the big skaven and for everyone of his ilk, and he had to struggle to keep his emotions hidden. Still, so he did.

"Chieftain Snoutrut's orders, mighty-strong warrior." He chittered without looking at him. He was used to keep snout and tail low, but in that moment he had to struggle with himself to do it. He clenched his fists. "I go-scurry alone into the ruins."

The stormvermin regarded him for a moment, a bored expression in his eyes as he sniffed him.

Morr left him sniff his musk of anger. He didn't care.

The stormvermin chittered, looking mildly unsure, then turned to the taskmaster.

Morr glanced at the corpulent skaven seated at the table. He felt a jolt of mixed spite and relief when he waved condescendendly, already returning his attention to the content strewn before him.

The stormvermin nodded, sniffing.

He made to move to the side to let Morr pass, but, suddenly, he hesitated.

Morr raised his ears.

He could hear… something.

Puzzled, he leaned to a side to watch beyond the stormvermin, just as the black-furred turned around to do the same.

As soon as they did, a gust of wind breathed out of the tunnel. Morr felt cold fingers running through his fur as it washed over the cavern. Then, as fast as it had arrived, it was gone, the air returning to be stale and musty.

Morr breathed out air that he hadn't realized of holding. What in the name of the Horned Rat had been that?

He looked around. The skaven were all chittering and hissing softly, showing clear signs of anxiety. They had all felt it too.

"It whispers strange today, yes-yes." The rough voice of the taskmaster broke the unnerved moment. The fat ratman was hunched on his post like he expected to have to hunker down behind the table at any moment.

His stare, fixed over the tunnel, moved to meet Morr's eyes.

"You brave to go alone, yes-yes." He said.

What it made shivers run through Morr's back wasn't what he said, but how. From a skaven superior he expected a grin going with those kind of words. Instead, he looked just more content of not being him the one of having to go back in there.

Morr swallowed, then turned his attention back to where the wind had come from.

The tunnel was unremarkable, with studs driven into the walls to give dim lightning to the path. Well-swept and well-kept, it winded down in a gentle slope that ended into shadows.

"Right-right."

Morr adjusted his backpack, more to do something than for actual need, and, pushing the anxiety aside, he started down the tunnel. As he walked, he could feel the gazes of all the other skaven following him, but he made a point of ignoring them.

Soon, he was alone.

The elven ruins, being larger and the first to have been discovered by the clan, had been explored and looted more estensively than the dwarfen fortress. Still, the skaven preferred on keeping on digging new tunnels to get around and then enter in other points rather than confer to a single entrance. The reason for that was to avoid to have to move inside the actual ruins as much as possible; the motive for that was clear to Morr very soon.

There wasn't a clear sign to mrak the entrance into the ruins, a breached wall, a knocked down door, walls, remnants of life like broken pottery or furnishing. No, there was just a change in the air. Like while swimming, when you passed from a zone where the water was nice and warm to a spot where instead it was cool and cold.

Morr registered it, not with his senses, but with his instict. Something changed, and the change sent shiver licking his back. The air was stale and musty, and still… different. He could almost feel it as it bore on him like a volume of water.

Still, he pressed on. Anxiety pressed against his resolution, but as he walked, the ember in his chest rekindled, and gave him the strength to persist.

Still, he took out his knife.

After a while, he met the first actual signs of elven presence.

The tunnel widened into a low chamber dug into the very rock of the earth, the walls made of carved stone. It had to be incredibly old, judging from the thick layer of dust on the floor, but somehow it didn't convey a feeling of abbandon. Elaborated carvings covered the walls, picturing swirling, graceful patterns that Morr didn't recognize. Heaps of dust and wreckage marked where ancient furnishing had given up to the onslaught of time.

And still, Morr felt like he was intruding in a very frequented place, the anxiety of having the owner appearing any moment to catch him on the act pressuring insistently on him.

He stopped at the rim of the tunnel, deciding of assessing the situation a bit before of continuing. That was, in fact, the first time that he was actually stopping to think from the very moment he awoke. He didn't care about his impetousness, in fact, his instict was of rushing through that place, prudence be damned, to search for valuables. That was his last chance, he knew that very well. The Tradelord would have him cuffed and stopped from going again in those solo missions.

If he would have survived to return.

He pushed away any pessimistic thoughts with irritation. He had done it once, he could do it twice.

Yes, twice at almost ending killed by being buried alive.

Just the memory was enough to make his knees feel weak. He had to lean against the wall of the tunnel, inspiring and exhaling slowly to calm himself.

He could do this. He could do this.

He had just to find enough valuables and pay back all his debts. If Kabrak and his goons would waiting for him again, well, he would think about that at the end of the expedition.

If he returned.

"Stop thinking about that!" He cursed under his breath.

Rage. Rage was his resource. He had to use it. Focus on it. His rage. A burning flame inside of him, burning, burning, powerful, untamed, it was in him and gave him strenght, it gave him power to push through and to be victorious, to avenge himself. Yes. Yes! He could feel it!

With a snarl, he detached himself from the wall and stood tall. Yes, he could do this. Yes. He could feel the flame burning.

With an ember of energy in his chest, he stepped into the hall and sniffed the air.

Nothing.

He could feel only the smells left from his brethren. Fur and sweat, fear and fatigue. About that place, he couldn't feel nothing, not even the dust.

He perked up his ears.

Nothing.

Not a whisper, not a thud in the distance.

When he had walked the dwarfen halls, from time to time he had heard rumours in the darkness, drops of water, scraching, distant thumping. Here… nothing at all. Silence.

"It is like it has no soul-breath." He whispered. He shivered at his own words.

He shrugged. Well, no point in delaying. That was his last chance, no, his great chance. And he would make sure that it didn't go to waste.

Doubts and fear scratching at the shell of his determination, he began his exploration.

While the dwarfen fort had been rough and imposing in his austerity, that place was a twisting maze of corridors and halls, the stone that made them up carved into soft, armonious lines. The carvings covered every wall, their smooth, joyous lines seeming to flow through the rock like rivers. Morr felt an immediate antipathy for them. The fact that he had the impression of seeing them move when he watched them through the tail of his eyes didn't help him in his appreciation of elven beauty.

After a while, to his mild relief, colourful frescoes began to interrupt the flow of carvings. They were all paintings of smiling elves and natural wonders, animals and white cities of breathtaking beauty. They looked like they had been painted just like the day earlier, their colors and shapes brilliant and vibrant, and they only accentuated Morr's feeling of having to face some inhabitants at any moment. He managed to relieve himself of at least a part of it by joining his claw marks to the defacements that his brethren had already done over the paintings. It helped to give free way to the old instincts, that was for sure.

Still, the strange atmosphere that he had felt when entering the ruins kept on bearing down on him. It was like moving through a bog, with mud sucking at his feet every time he tried to make a step. The more he moved deeper into the ruins, the more the sensation seemed to grow.

Eventually, he found himself covered in sweat, with anxiety gnawing at him. It was like that place had a will of his own, and that will seemed hell-bent with every thought to make him know how much he was unwelcome.

Morr snarled and huffed, throwing his irritation against those unpleasant sensations like he would have done against a physical wall, shutting them off with a block of anger. As he did, the sensastion seemed to lessen, but a chorus of whispers breathed through his mind. They disappeared before he could understand what they were saying, so fast that he found himself wondering if he had actually imaginated them.

Suddenly. Morr had the impression of seeing something move, and his head snapped around to see.

Nothing.

He was in a corridor, colorful frescoes picturing a celebrating, white city covering the wall.

Morr felt his pulse quicken. Slowly, he moved his gaze all around, his eyes passing over the jubilant expressions of the elves as they cavorted and enjoyed themselves. They seemed to watch all toward the same direction, he noticed. Following their gazes with his own, he saw a great stair and, on top of it, a palace of white marble and gold. Before the palace, two figures stood, hand in hand. One was a female, the other a man, and they were flanked by retinues of magnificently dressed elves. They were all females for the she-elf, all covered in the colour of spring and summer. The red of flame covered the finery of the other retinue, their mascoline members all showing stern, stony gazes. And still, their magnificence paled before the sheer royalty that the couple at their center seemed to emanate. They both wore crowns, and all the world, all the celebrating elves seemed to gravitate around them, like a camp of flowers around the sun.

Hatred, cold and oily, stabbed through Morr's heart, and he stomped toward the fresco. His talons left filthy, ragged marks over the faces of the elves as he dragged them all over the vibrant colors and lovely forms. He couldn't deface it all, not alone, but he kept marring it nonetheless, feeling brutal relish as he did so.

He was about to arrive to the two monarchs' faces, when a flood of whispers exploded into his mind and the wall flaked and crumbled away and he was spinning and spinning and spinning.

Morr detached himself from the wall with a gasp.

He frantically looked around.

The corridor was as empty and silent as before. The walls were still at their place.

Blinking, he raised his gaze to the fresco. It was untouched, all his marks gone.

Morr squeaked in fear, turned and scuttled away. He ran blindly, barely looking where he was going, on his neck the ghost of the sensation of a hand about to grab him.

Eventually he stopped, breathless and scared out of his wits, beyond a sharp turn of a corridor. He remained there, heart pounding in his ears, peeking around the corner like he was expecting of being chased by some monster.

Nothing arrived. The place was silent and empty, the only thing to move the dust that he had raised in his escape, and that now returned to lay on the ground.

Slowly, he managed to retake a measure of calm.

Yes, he said to himself, the place was infested, haunted, but he knew it already, didn't he? He had worked here already, and he knew already how those strange "elves tricks" worked. There wasn't need to panic just because a stupid painting could clean itself or whatnot. He had to stay calm, calm.

Thw words of the taskmaster echoed into his mind, but he managed nonetheless to rein his fear in.

As much as he wanted to just bail out, he couldn't let that expedition go to waste, he couldn't.

With a huff, he turned around to assess where he had ended to.

He stopped right on his track. He didn't recognize that place.

He was in a large hall, larger that anyone he had ever explored. It looked large enough to host an entire crowd of elves. The ceiling was cavernous and domed, and was so high that he could barely made it up into the gloom. A series of columns and arches sorrounded a circular space at the center of the hall, one that could be accessed descending three steps. That space was full of strange shapes.

Morr advanced with caution, his eyes darting around. He moved slowly at first, but, feeling more and more vulnerable the more time he passed into that open space, he ended up on rushing to the columns. As soon as he arrived at one, he sighed with relief, leaning against it like a bulwark.

After a moment to rearrange his wits, he peeked out from behind the column. A dim kind of light seemed to effuse the entire area, giving just the right kind of gloomy lighting that he needed to see well.

The shapes were clear now. They were all rotten, mouldering heaps of woods, dust and cobwebs. They were arrayed into neat rows, line after line. Before them, a massive wreck of wood that could have been some kind of throne stood.

Observing the strange sight, Morr felt his heart leapt. There was something protuding from one of the heap, and it looked like bone.

Not even daring to hope, Morr slowly abandoned his hiding spot. A whisper of wind caressed his ear, and he winced, snapping to turn around. Nothing came by and so he resumed his advance, even more cautious than before.

As he advanced, hope blossomed in the tension that gripped him. It was actually bone! An arm, in fact.

Feeling excited, he fiddled through the mound. It was unerving to not feel the expected stinks, since that place seemed to absorb any smell, but he tried to not think about it as he moved aside rotted wood and cobwebs. A little swarm of spiders was scared out of the pile, but he didn't pay mind to them, all concentrated on taking out the body.

And it was a body for real, a long-limbed, bleached skeleton that he presumed to have belonged to some elf in the far distant past.

It rattled slightly as Morr uncovered it, and slumped. Eventually, he stepped back to see better.

What he saw filled him with frustration.

Nothing! The skeleton was as bare as a beached fish. No elf luxuries, no values, nothing at all.

Angry, he pushed the skeleton hard, sending it against the mound it was still half-fixed in. The arm of the corpse swiweled around for the momentum and hit Morr straight on the head like a hammer.

He squeaked and jumped back. He glared hard to the offender as he rubbed his poor head. Still, he avoided other rough gestures. Intead, he turned to regard the other mounds. Now that he was close, he could see bits of bones jutting out from them as well. It looked like there were other skeletons in there.

There was just to hope that they were more wealthy.

It was destiny that his hopes had to end up dashed. After working to uncover the corpses, one for each heap, he found nothing but dust and other spiders.

Seated against the last of his unfulfilling searching post, he let out a groan of frustration. He was so unlucky! That had to be the only place in the entire world where the stupid elf-things decided to bury their dead without even a coin on them.

He was busy lamenting his fate, when a thought struck him. Dead? Now that he thought about it. That didn't look like a graveyard.

He raised his head, looking at the strange heaps once again. Why the heck the skeletons were in those strange position, sprawled inside those mounds? It didn't look like they were coffins, at all.

Curious, he turned around, searching the last heap for clues. He found a piece of wood that still had decorations on its surface. It was a bit curved and, confronting it with the other pieces strewn around the corpse, he tried to imagine what the entire piece could have been looking like.

The idea struck him like a bolt.

Benches! It looked like they could have composed a bench!

Realization swiftly left place to perplexity. Benches? Why the heck there were bodies inside ruins of benches?

Turning around, he looked to the other heaps. They roughly looked like all the same. So, all benches.

The only explaination that he could think of was that those elves, for whatever reason, had died while sitting and time had been the one to reduce everything to that state.

Still, he wondered, why they didn't wear anything? Maybe clothes had just disappeared with time too? It looked right enough, just, an elf without even a bracelet? He had seen, in his years as scavenger, that even the most humble of them had at least some jewels over their corpses.

He cursed his luck once again.

Still, curiosity had taken the wheel and his recriminations lasted very shortly. Instead, he turned his attention to the biggest heap, the one before the rows of all the others. That was the only one resembling something vaguely, but, as all the rest, the corpse over it was empty of every valuable.

Still, as he watched, he felt something nudging at his thoughts. It was a soft thing, barely aknowledgeable, but insistent. Like having a tiny drop of water fall on your skull. It pushed him to search that last heap again.

Curious, both for that strange impulse and for the actual thing, he made his way to it and began to rummage in it. The skeleton, spread in a heap inside a big mass of cobwebs, seemed to breath dust as he moved it, rattling slightly. Morr thrusted his paws into the mass, careless of the dust sent flying and searched.

He stopped. He could feel something. Smooth, cold, it didn't feel like it was wood.

With slight trepidation, he fondled around, until he grabbed the thing, and snatched it out. A cloud of dust was liberated, and he coughed a bit, waving his paw around. When it dissipated, he felt all his expectations sink.

It was a book.

Metal-bound, it was a bulky, heavy thing that looked like it could withstand even being thrown into a volcano or crushed by a mountain.

Morr felt a tugging to open it, to read it. For a moment, he actually thought about it, then, he left it fall with disgust. He had had enough of books for a lifetime. No more of that garbage. No more! The next rat could scuttle by and take it. He might as well be throwing it into a pit for all that he cared. He would be taking jewels and valuables from now on and only those.

Dusting himself off, he got up, looking around. Enough losing time, he had still a work to do.

He glanced at the series of past-benches one more time. From the pieces that he could see, more than a throne, that last one pile was more of a desk. So, a lot of benches with a desk before them. What the heck that place could have ever been? And why the elf-things had died while sitting?

He thought about it, but no solution came.

He felt a bit of disappointment, but he shrugged it off.

Eh, who cared.

In that moment, though, he noticed something. The cobwebs. They were all over the ex-benches, but in no other parts of the hall. No on the walls, no between the columns. Dust, yes, but no cobwebs.

That simple discovery made him feel anxious. Eyes darting around, he moved away from the rows of piles and toward the other side of the hall. All those strange things he had seen until that moment came flashing through his mind, and he ended up more running than actually walking out of the hall and into a new corridor.

He had had the presence of mind of running back from where he had come, but, as he stepped foot in what it would have been an already seen place, he felt a lump of ice appear in his stomach.

It was different.

The corridor from where he had come was a long, straight pathway with frescoes on both sides. Here, there was a turn just ahead, and only twirling, glowing carvings ran through the walls. What was more unnerving, torches burned into iron holders fixed to the walls.

Morr didn't stop to contemplate the new space.

He turned around and raced the way he had come, into the hall, through it and into another corridor.

That it looked like the exact copy of the one he had just left.

He stopped, breathing hard, his mind reeling from the effort of understanding what the hell was going on.

"It whispers strange today." The words of the taskmaster resounded into his mind like a distant echo.

Morr fixed his gaze to the turn, where the corridor ended. He could hear steps, and chanting.

"Not again. Not again." He murmured franticaly, grabbing his head.

He felt whispers scratching against his consciousness. Like a mass of angry shadows, they pushed against his thoughts, mudding them, clotting them. Soon, he could feel a splitting headache starting to rise, his consciousness becoming dimmer and dimmer as coldness ran through his body.

Residual embers remained into his chest, remnants of the determination that had brought him there. They had guttered out, covered by his fear, but they had remained, smoldering slowly. He climged to them with desperation, trying to staunch the flow of weakness that threatened to overhelm him. Licks of flames rose from the ashes, anger rising through his soul, and he felt it dissipate part of the cold, pushing it back.

The chanting rose. He could see light coming from around the corner.

He stumbled, his legs not answering well to his commands. He had to escape. He didn't want to end up under the earth. Not again. Not again.

Feeling his legs like jelly, he pivoted around, smashing against a wall. Pain spiked through his shoulder and he felt his fire being alimented by it.

Weakness and cold receded again, and he wobbled forward, leaning against the wall. The hall. He had to arrive to the hall. He had to go out of the corridor.

The whispers pushing against his mind grew enraged. Morr squeaked in pain as invisible talons raked against his skull. His thoughts exploding into red fog and cacophony, he lost his footing and fell down. He squeaked and writhed, his paws clutching his head. A hundred, thousand of voices were screaming into his head.

Through slitted eyes, darkness obstructing his vision, he saw ferocious light erupt from the corner of the corridor. The torches fizzled and exploded into blazes of red-hot flames.

The light rushed toward him like a forest fire. Hateful, twisted faces formed from it, howling in screeching voices that seemed to pierce through him like ice daggers.

Terror and light obstructing his senses, scrabbled frantically to get away from the onslaught. A massive bolt of pain to the head sent him sprawling down.

"Not again!" He screamed. "No!" The flame was a guttering, fading spark inside of him, sieged by the cacophony like a ship lost into a thunderstorm. He tried to cling to it, but the voices overhelmed his focus into a chaos of rumours.

Cold spread through him like a wave and where it spread, he couldn't feel himself anymore. He could already feel the darkness opening up to swallow him.

Somewhere, he couldn't say where, his hand scrabbled to the desperate search of something anything to save him, something to cling on to not be swept away.

He just needed something to cling on, anything. Anything!

His fingers writhed and extended, searching, searching, searching.

He found it.

Something cold and hard, something with which to fight back, with which to defend himself. His fire exploded into a last, fizzling plume of flame. Anger fuelled him, anger for his destiny, for his defencelessness, to the defiance that he refused to give up.

He chattered, the little sound immediate swallowed up by the siege that was drowning him.

And then, it happened.

A howl that was a chitter, a roar that was a gnashing of teeth, like his own but a hundred, a thousand time stronger and fiercer. It exploded into the air like a peal of thunder.

It swept through his drowning mind like the hand of a giant, smashing aside all the voices and the screams. The cold receded like before a burning sun, before being consumed and destroyed. The light that dazzled him was seized by a great shadow, sparked a last time, then it disappeared, extinguished.

Everything went silent.

Morr remained still, his mind struggling to find itself again. When it did, the first thing that he noticed was the darkness.

Everything was still, cold, silent. The pain, the voices. They were all gone. Even his mind, before a swirling torrent, now was still and empty.

Slowly, he moved from the disarticolated heap in which he laid and got up. With trepidation, he looked around.

The corridor with the flames was gone, replaced once again by the long, straight-up corridor that he had already passed through. Still, he could see that the dust all around him was disturbed, and by much more than his wild movements. There were the signs of many feet, like a crowd had thunderously amassed itself around his prone form.

Morr flinched back, a fearful chittering escaping from his lips. For a moment, he thought only about running away, but, before he could make even one step, a little voice stopped him. It chided him, reminding to him that no, he couldn't return, not until he had what he had come for. He rebelled at that thinking. What was the point of finding riches if the price was his life? And then, who said that he could actually find any in that… that hellhole?

That answer, arriving from the depths of his mind was swift. Then, what was the point of returning like a failure, with nothing but dust in his paws? What was the point of life if he had to live only to see all his dreams dashed? That was his last chance, and he knew it.

The logic of those thoughts was iron, and, for a moment, he felt like a chained rat, with no way where to go and with only barred roads before him. His shoulders slumped and ears fell down.

He contemplated the swirling of empty spaces between the dust as a desperated sadness rumbled inside of him like poisoned water. But then, he gritted his teeth.

"To hell-hell with it!" He screeched, stomping his foot down with anger.

Fuming, he turned around and stomped back into the great hall. Ghosts? To hell with them! Monsters? To hell with them! Kabrak? Throttle? To hell with them! Everyone of them could go to hell! He was going out of that stupid place with what he needed and that was that!

Fear was a living, scratching thing inside of him, but he threw it into a cavern deep into his mind, closing down the entrance with a boulder of anger and sheer stubborness.

And that was that!

He resumed his exploration, moving swiftly and quietly through corridors and rooms. The frescoes and the swirling carvings continued in each new area he moved into. They covered the walls with idilliac scenes and vibrant colours and managed to arouse his wrath every time he laid eyes on them. Still, he kept well away from them, sometimes even going as far as scurrying at the center of the hallways, as to not even touch them.

As he went, he could hear whispers, barely audible, caressing his ears with invisible fingers and hidden meanings. Just at the end of his vision, from time to time he had the impression of seeing figures and shapes moving, but he never caught an actual sight of anything except himself.

Still, rage and stubborness pushed him forward, even as anxiety wracked his nerves. He couldn't fail. He just couldn't.

He moved through halls and corridors that hadn't probably seen a living being from the time in which the elf-things had abandoned them. There were rooms with old, decaying forniture, in pieces or reduced to dust, chambers with neat beds that seemed ready to be used at any moments, kitchens full of implements, empty bathrooms and one time even a large forum that had to be used for large reunions.

More than once he found skeletons, laid upon old beds, crouched against walls or just strewn in the dust in contorted positions.

And still, no matter how much he searched and rustled, he couldn't find anything of value. Old plates, strange ornamentations in form of natural elements, forks, combs, emblems, all signs of past life and an enormous mass of clutter.

And not even one was of even a bit value. Not a bit of gold, not a ounce of silver. Iron, copper and brass seemed to rule in that place, like any other metals had been forbidden.

As he went his frustration grew.

Yes, he could bring back a sack full of iron to sell for smelting, but that could only bring him a fraction of what he actually needed. And it wasn't like he could just carry a ton of that useless garbage.

He was examining a big plate that he had found in the midst of a wreck that could have been a table when he finally snapped. Hissing, he searched for even a little bit of precious metals, a little ornamentation, anything. The excitament of discovery was well and full forgotten between the frustration and agitation, and, with a angered chitter, he threw the plate away with a mighty swing.

The object smashed against the wall with a thunderous clang that made him wince and jump, before cluttering on the ground. Into the silence, the sounds seemed to echo and resound like horns.

Anger forgotten, trembling in anxiety, Morr looked around frantically, almost expecting to see something terrible appear.

Nothing arrived, and so he sighed with relief.

Still, irritation caught back with him shortly. Why the heck he couldn't find anything? And why the hell in that place the cobwebs covered only the corpses and nothing else?

Shivering slightly, he made to resume his exploration, when something caught his attention.

At first, he took it like it was only of the strange phenomena of that place, but, as he turned his head to watch better, it didn't disappear as usual.

It was like a little glow into the wall, but with some otherwordly quality to it that he couldn't actually place.

Throwing cautious glances its direction, Morr backed away and out of that room. By now, he had learned that being curious in that place wasn't a good thing.

Still, the costant pressure was getting to him, and he had to make a pause.

Drinking from his pouch, he felt fear and frustration swirl in his breast, muddying his determination. With a snarl, he pushed it back forcefully. He could still go.

As he resumed his moving, new, strange things began to touch his senses together with what he had already felt and seen. New whispers joined the old ones, these ones sounding like the scrabbling and soft chittering of a horde of rats that tried to dig their way out of the earth. Strange multicolored glows, like the first he had encountered, seemed to ran from time to time along the carvings of the walls. He tried to not be disturbed by them, tried even to not look and to not hear, but it was useless.

The pressure was over him and it chipped at him.

Soon enough, he had to stop once again to regain his breath.

"I can't do it… i-i can't do it…" He wheezed, leaning against a wall. He felt like he was travelling inside that hellhole from days. And how the hell was he supposed to return like that? How was he even supposed to keep going?

No, he couldn't surrender. He couldn't.

Swallowing, he made to resume his pace, when a sound caught his attention.

Steps.

Steps that were coming closer.

Horror mounted inside of Morr. Not another of those apparitions. Not again!

"Oh no no no no…"

Trembling, he frantically looked around for a hiding spot.

There was an open door close, with a series of wooden wrecks inside.

Morr didn't hesitate. He dashed inside and threw himself behind one of the destroyed furniture. From there, he peeked out with caution, eyes and ears open.

The steps were coming closer.

Slow, the steps of one that wasn't in hurry of arriving to destination.

Morr swallowed.

His trembling hand found the hilt of his dagger. It felt useless in his paw, a rusty, blunt thing that couldn't cut even a block of cheese.

But, he wasn't going through another of that mind-blowing thing, not again. Not again!

As soon as the steps come close enough, Morr jumped out of his hiding spot and into the corridor. Eyed close, he squealed as he stabbed wildly.

He felt the dagger sink into something rough, and heard a grunt. Then, something slapped the weapon out of his palm and sent him wirling around with the force of the blow.

Staggered, he stumbled, paws and feet scrabbling into the dust.

Teeth bared, he turned around to face his aggressor and…

He freezed in the middle of the movement.

His eyes widened, his jaw fell down into a dumbstruck pose.

A Skaven. He had attacked a black-furred Skaven, that now was watching at him with slitted, yellow eyes.

And he was… he was…

"Gargant?"


	6. Chapter 6

Morr didn't know what to think.

It was too casual, too sudden for actually being true. That big skaven before him, he couldn't actually be his brother. And still, no matter what his brain kept on telling him, what his nose felt was unmistakeable.

In all his years of mingling in Skaven society, he had sniffed many, many personal odours, each a unique marking for each skaven. But he hadn't ever, ever smelled something similar to what Gargant's scent was. A deep, musky waft that talked of dark places, away from any light; and hunger, hunger like a bottomless pit. And, beyond that, strenght and firmness like rocks, like the stones that made up the roots of the mountains upon which the endless tide of rats scuttled and chittered.

Morr stumbled back, his mind reeling. No, it couldn't be. It simply couldn't. That place wss surely playing another trick on his mind. It had to be like that.

As Morr wastched him, the black-furred skaven watched him on turn.

He was big, burly and tough, with limbs and a neck strangely thick for a skaven. Even stranger, was the fur around his neck. It was fluffy and thick, forming a sort of collar. Dirty bandages and rags covered him in layers, like a primitive armor.

His eyes were two yellow slits, full of what it could pass for resentfulness.

"You stabbed me." The black-fur deadpanned, his paw rubbing over his shoulder.

A little bit of blood smeared over his fingers, from where Morr's dagger had scratched him.

The metallic scent sent Morr reeling back.

"Stay back!" He said, his insticts taking over. "I am not falling for it-it!"

The black-furred frowned, looking puzzled.

"What-what?"

Morr didn't let himself get fooled.

"I know it-it! You're not real! You're just another ghost-thing!"

The black-fur watched him like he was a madrat.

"What the heck are you talking-squeaking about?"

He stepped forward, and Morr drew back. He moved forward again, and again Morr stepped back.

He stopped, looking annoyed.

"You know what-what!" He blurted out. "Forgive it!"

He turned around and made to just walk away, when he stopped, ears perking up.

Morr did the same, and both looked at their right. Shadows moved at the end of the corridor, melding into a pool of writhing darkness.

A whisper of frigid wind passed over them, and Morr felt all his fur standing on an end.

"I-it's happening again!" He squeaked in fright.

But, before he could do anything, the black-furred turned around, seized him by his wrist and sprinted away. Too surprised to resist, Morr left himself get dragged away. As they ran, he felt whispers and distant laughters caressing his ears.

They ran for what it felt like hours, Morr's mind too deep into confusion to let him actually understand what was happening.

They ran and ran, until the whisper were replaced by silence, and the only sounds were their short breaths and rushed steps.

Eventually, the black-fur took a sharp turn into a chamber. Morr was more thrown than pushed inside, and found himself almost stumbling into the dust.

Without even glancing at him, the black-fur pushed himself against the wall, peeking outside.

As he watched, Morr looked at his wrist, where the signs of talons were already visible. That felt a little too real for being an apparition. And the smells, the smells. It could ever be?

After a while, the black-fur nodded grimly.

"We-we left them behind for now, yes-yes. But we'll have to move soon again" He said, turning around. He stopped at seeing how Morr was watching him with wide eyes. "You-you okay?" He asked with suspicion.

Morr had to open and close his mouth a couple of time before words actually came to him.

"G-Gargant?"

That word felt more than thick on his tongue. It felt unreal. His brain kept on telling him that it wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. But all his other senses' judgement was unmistekeable.

The black-fur narrowed his eyes.

"How do you know my name-name?"

Morr wanted to scream and to faint and to jump. He ended up on doing the second.

"I-It's me!" He squeaked. "It's me!"

The black-fur watched him in silence, and Morr could feel how he was examining him, weighting him up.

Eventually, something sparked in his eyes. No surprised recognition, but the hint of a hint of something that could be called realization.

"Morr?" He whispered. "Brother?"

Morr nodded frantically.

Something strange happened on the black-fur's face and scent. Relief, disbelief and something else danced along what Morr could pick up from him, before being hidden under a mask of quiet resentfulness.

"You stabbed me." He deadpanned, his paw moving again to the scratch on his shoulder.

If he was going along a rollercoaster of emotion, the same was happening for Morr. Relief, confusion, dismay, disbelief and what could be called happiness swirled into his chest, and he actually staggered under them.

"I…" He stuttered, uncapable of deciding with what actually going. "I am sorry?"

The black-fur watched him in silence for a moment, before nodding.

"You are forgiven, yes-yes." He said, and took his paw away.

They watched each other for a moment, Morr struggling for actual words, when a wailing scream suddenly pierced the silence.

Gargant's head snapped to the side.

"They come!" He said. "We must move! Quickly!"

And, without waiting for him, he dashed out of the door and into the corridor.

Morr started and scurried behind him.

He had barely set foot into the corridor that a wave of voices slammed against him like a physical force. His mind flared with pain, and he squeaked and staggered.

"H-help!" He called, as the word swirled around his eyes.

For a moment, it seemed like nobody would arrive, and his blood ran cold with fear. But then, a paw snapped around his wrist, dragging him upwards.

Gargant's resoluted face appeared in his blurry vision.

"On your feet-paws, brother." He said.

Morr felt an actual need to cry in that moment, both in terror and in relief, being called like that sinking into his heart like a knife though butter. But somehow, he managed to just nod and move.

Whatever assault he had endured by the dreadful things inhabiting that place, now seemed only a pleasant memory before the sheer brutality of what was hammering on his brain. The whispers had become screams of rage and frustration and hate trying to rip him apart. Each voice was like a needle of fire stabbing its way into his head, muddying his thoughts, scattering his concentration.

Walking was difficult with that infernal chorus bearing down on him, running even more, and so Morr had to concentrate all his focus on simply putting a foot after the other. More than once his concentration slipped and he found himself on the verge of slipping down. Under all that assault, what was the point of persisting? Might as well just lie down and die. Each time that happened, though, the firm hold of Gargant brought him back from the verge, both physical and mental.

Wheezing and sputtering, Morr suddenly felt a gentle whisper emerge from the cacophony. It was caressing, delicate, and invited him to just stop and turn. Just for a moment. He was very tired, wasn't he? He surely could spare a moment?

That gentle invitation slipped though his flailing defences like a wind under a door and, Morr felt like, yes, why not? It wasn't like it was such a bad idea. He could just rest for a moment and watch. In fact, he was actually curious.

He was about to obey when Gargant's hold tightened over his wrist.

"Don't watch behind!" Gargant hissed, his voice like the crack of a whip. "They'll drag you down!"

Morr blinked, regaining control. He had almost... Almost… Away, in the heart of the voices, he had the impression of hearing a laughter wanishing in the distance.

He shivered, and concentrated over his steps.

Suddenly, after what have could be minutes or even hours, Gargant stopped.

Carried from his momentum, Morr almost smacked against him before stopping on his own. Panting, covered in sweat, Morr looked around. They were arrived at an intersection between two large corridors. The beautiful frescoes on the walls seemed alive so much their colours were brilliant and vivid. Morr had the impression of hearing even the laughters of the elves painted in them, of seeing their shapes move at the rythm of a long forgotten music.

He swallowed, and turned to his brother.

Gargant was tense, his snout high in the gesture of sniffing the air. He still hadn't let go of his wrist.

"What…" Morr began, when the black-furred raised a paw to silence him.

"They're coming." He pulled at him. "Get behind me."

Morr did as he was told.

He was about to watch where Gargant was looking, but the black-furred's paw came down over his head, pushing it down.

"Don't watch." Was Gargant's stern order.

Feeling his heart thumping, Morr obeyed.

And waited.

The voices were reduced now, no more a chaos of screams, but a hissing corus of whispers. They whispered from the dark, like the wind through the leaves. Morr felt the strings of his heart being pulled by them. Enveloped into morbid, terrified fascination, he strained his ears to understand, to listen to what they were saying.

And the whispers, almost complying to his wish, became clearer and clearer, words delineating in what was only an indistinct hum.

 _Come. Down in the darkness. Come. Come. Drowned into the earth. Come. Rest. Lay your head. No suffering. No past. No future. Come. Come. Sleep._

That drone had a inviting quality to it; it murmured into Morr's ears like a lullaby. And, oh, how he ached for it. He could rest. Finally. Here and there. Put an end at all his plights. Forever. He had only to close his eyes. He had already done it, in the dwarf tomb. He could do it again. Only, this time he wouldn't ever had to awaken again.

His head swam, his thoughts slowly circling. Yes, peace, quiet. Yes.

Then Gargant roared.

"The Dead don't get to meddle with the living! You had your chance, yes-yes! You fell, and now you're dust! No more of you in this world! Out-out! Out in the shadows! Away! Away!"

The whispers wavered like the sea against the reefs. They scattered, then reunited, then returned.

 _No. No. We won't relent. Savaged. Killed. Injustice. We refuse. We refuse. Come. Come. Join us. Down in the darkness. Lay. Sleep. Be at peace._

"Away, i say, yes-yes! Away, shadows-dead! Begone!"

 _Injustice. Kill. No. No. N…_

"BEGONE!"

And then, it ended.

Morr realized that he had closed his eyes only when he opened them. Marveling, he looked around. The corridors were empty, the frescoes were just painting over the walls. Only dust and silence remained.

He watched his brother.

Gargant stood tall, his head held high, an angry light in his eyes. He noticed Morr's gaze after a moment, and turned to him, grinning.

In that moment, more than ever before, Morr saw his old brother in the features of that black-furred's face, the image of a reserved, big ratling in a dirty pit superimposing over that big rat that stood in the middle of a corridor of an old ruin.

After that encounter, they decided to rest for a bit. Morr wasn't very much inclined to, but Gargant reassured him. The ghosts couldn't return, not after being banished right away. They always needed a bit of time to reform.

Morr was still dizzy and weak after the ordeal and so Gargant had to help him to enter into another room that the black-furred seemed to have searched for.

It must have been some kind of refectory, judging from the stone tables and benches aligned against the wall. A large counter made of the same stone covered another side of the chamber. A line of strange holes punctured its smooth surface.

Morr sat on one of the benches, his poor, full of aches body immediately rejoicing at the possibility of actually sitting. Still, his mind was a furnace of activity. How had Gargant ended up in that place? What had been him up to in those years? How they had met? How? Where? When? He actually avoided to think about all the ghosts and voices.

His mind jumped from a question to the other, without actually finding answer for any. As the black-fur, no, as Gargant, retrieved something from the strange holes on the stone counter, Morr's eyes never let go of him, nor the questions stopped churning out.

It simply was too casual for him to accept it, too sudden.

He didn't know what to think.

After a moment of rummaging, Gargant came to the table. He had handfuls of stuff that looked like grain in his paws.

After the burst of emotion that had overhelmed his expression, now he looked grim and serious. Still, Morr could see a feverish light in his eyes as the black-fur watched him, like he wanted to impress in his mind as much as possible of him.

"Here." He said, handing him over half of the grain and keeping the rest for him.

Too dizzy to do anything else, Morr accepted it. He remained to watch him, quizzical. What was he supposed to do with it?

"It's foodstuff." Gargant explained. He shrugged at Morr's dumbstruck expression. "Elves-things knew how to keep things good-good." And, as to confirm, he dropped the handful he had kept in his mouth, munching thoughtfully.

Wth a bit of hesitation, Morr sniffed the strange food. It didn't smelled exactly good, but not even bad. Neutral. It was like sniffing a handful of dust that had been left into a corner for a thousand years.

Well, he had worse, he supposed.

He took a bit and gulped it down, munching with a bit of trepidation. It tasted like sand. Well, not so bad all in all.

Gargant was still watching him intently, and Morr had the impression that he thought like he could disappear any moment. The fact that he was thinking the same was almost laughable, really. His eyes moved subtly along Gargant's frame.

For a long moment, they remained in silence, eating and contemplating each other.

Morr's thoughts swirled into small circles. He had a ton of questions, but he had no ideas from what to commence or an actual clue as to what to say. He felt dizzy, disoriented. He felt a longing to reattach but at the same time he felt like he was talking to a different Skaven, and that stopped him from talking. The Gargant that he had know wasn't able to banish ghosts and monsters with only his voice. And, deep down, he feared for something, but without understanding what for.

Thankfully for him, Gargant was the one to break the silence.

"You've grown, yes-yes." He observed. His voice was a neutral, deep rumble.

Morr was started out of his line of thought from those words.

"You too." He hurried to say. "But not as much as i thought, yes-yes."

"You thought i would have been bigger-stronger?"

Morr nodded.

"Yes-yes. I thought much during these years of you-you, brother. I thought that by now, you would have been big-great as a mountain."

He blurted out those words before realizing what he was actually saying and freezed just after. For a Skaven, talking about inadeguacies in term of body size and strenght was an insult.

Still, Gargant didn't look offended. Instead, he smirked.

"That's what all the-the others thought too." He said, crossing his arms before his chest. "They ended up disappointed, yes-yes." He sounded strangely satisfied.

Relief mixed to curiosity inside of Morr.

"Who-who?"

Gargant made a vague gesture in the air with a paw.

"Nobody." He said. He leanead forward. There was expectation in his eyes. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"What about you?" Gargant repeated. "What are you been-been up to? It has been…" He looked thoughtful.

"Two years, yes-yes."

"Oh, yes. So much time." Gargant nodded. "What have you been up to-to all this time, brother?"

Morr didn't feel much like talking. That fear, that hesitation was still there, writhing into his chest like a pile of worms.

And still, that last word, being called "brother", made something spring inside of him, like someone had pushed with a stick inside the worms and sent them scattering.

"I-It's a long story." He stuttered.

"We have a bit of time." Gargant replied.

"Well…"

He began to talk. At first timidly, with hesitation, then with more and more confidence, until words flowed from his mouth like waters. He briefly told him of his life at Snoutdeep, of his efforts, of the little satisfactions and great disappointments.

It was a brief recount, made short from the place in which they were, but, as he talked, another spark of recognition ignited: he recognized the silent, patient presence of his brother, like a great shadow that waited and listened. Doubts and apprehension remained, but they were lessened, along with the sense of displacement.

He talked and talked and talked for he didn't know how much time, with only Gargant's sporadic forays a the counter to give an actual measure of time. Eventually, his story reached his end, and he stopped, feeling empty and liberated from a bit of the anxiety that had oppressed him from the entrance into those ruins.

They remained in comfortable silence, Morr munching on the last of the grain while Gargant looked away, his talons clicking slowly on the stone bench.

"You did-see much-much." Gargant commented after a while.

Morr finished munching before answering. That stuff had tasted a bit sandy at first, but he was starting to like it. Beyond all the dusty taste, if you munched it thoroughly, one could pick up a bit of fruity feel.

"Yes-yes." He nodded. "I've worked much-much." He left his pride shine through his words. He felt like he deserved it.

Gargant grinned.

"And… you?" Morr asked

"What about me?"

"You know it! What… what are you up to?"

"A bit of this, a bit of that." Gargant said vaguely.

"You don't want to tell me?" Morr asked, puzzled.

In all answer, Gargant grinned at him.

"No."

In that smirk, in the stubborness that conveyed, and in the irritation that made flare inside of him, another spark of recognition. Morr saw it, like an image super-imposed over that big skaven's face. The snout of his brother, his stubborness at not going forward when he asked to, to not hurt when he thought it was enough.

"I cannot believe it-it." Morr whispered.

"What?"

"It's really you, my brother. It's really you-you."

Gargant's grin colored itself of quiet happiness.

"And you are Morr, my brother. I too cannot believe it-it."

In that moment, it clicked. It felt real. That was his brother, Morr could feel it. Despite the sheer randomness of that meeting, it was really happening. It was really Gargant.

A rush of emotion surged through him. Relief, but even fear. He wished to jump to hug him, to scream at his face, to run around squealing. All those emotions piled up inside of him like a volcano about to erupt.

He hiccuped in trying in pressing it down.

"How are you ended up in here-here?" He hesitated. "Brother?"

Being called like that seemed to spark something into Gargant's eyes, something that disappeared so fast to let Morr wondering if he had actually seen it.

"I am running away." The black-furred said.

"From who? And why?" Morr asked, alarmed. There were enemies nearby?

Seeming to read his thoughts, Gargant shook his head.

"I ran much-much to arrive here. Nobody followed in here-here."

Morr sighed in relief, a moment cut short by Gargant jumping at his feet.

"Where are you going now-now?" Morr asked.

"It's not safe here-here." He replied. "We must move, yes-yes."

"But the ghost-things…"

"It's to avoid them that we must move-scurry. We've stood still for too much time already. Come."

And without waiting for a reply, he moved toward the door. Morr hurried to follow him.

Together, they rushed through the silent corridors, eyes and ears open for apparitions.

Gargant was at the lead, apparently at ease in the elven labyrinth. At every intersection, he just looked around once, sniffing briefly, before taking resolutely a path.

On his part, Morr was more busy on trying to keep up with his long strides than to actually look where he was going, his attention continuously moving over the black-furred.

His brother. He could barely believe it. And yet, he was there. He was actually there with him. And he could just scream at monsters and make them run away.

He shivered.

But, he reminded to himself, the past was the past and many many things had changed. This Gargant wasn't the Gargant that he had know and he didn't know what time had done to change him. And… he still remembered that night…

His attention was sharply attracted by the path that Gargant was taking.

"Wait! Not there!" He exclaimed, grabbing him by the wrist.

Gargant's head snapped around to glare at him, his eyes full of burning light that made him actually flinch back. The black-furred seemed to realize what he was doing only after a moment. He hesitated, his expression losing its ferocity.

"Why not?" He mumbled, turning around.

Morr blinked, shocked. Those eyes... For a moment they had looked like the ones he had wore during that night…

"I-i feet it." He said, trying to not think about it. He pointed toward the path that Gargant was about to take. "I feel the strange-nasty whispers coming from there."

It was like a chorus of voices, far and muffled. He could hear it clearly, together with the strange chittering that continued to scratch at his skull.

Gargant frowned, looking into the corridor.

"Are you sure?" He asked, turning to him.

Morr nodded, a bit puzzled.

"Can't you hear it-it?" He asked.

Gargant didn't answer. Instead, he gestured for him to follow him and, after glancing at him enigmatically a last time, took another of the branching corridor.

Morr followed swiftly, without understanding. Still, it wasn't time to ask question, he could understand as much.

They scurried for a while in silence, passing richly painted corridors and halls long given to the dust of ages of abandonment.

Eventually, they arrived to an isolated corner of the ruins, or, at least, isolated by Morr's point of view. There was no more great halls, only a long series of chambers that looked to become smaller and smaller and emptier and emptier except for some wreck of implements that could have been cleaning tools.

Gargant stopped before the first barred door that Morr had seen in those blasted ruins. It was a ramshackle door, though, made-up of misproportioned wooden beams stacked together. It was more a barricade, really. Above it, Morr could see a skaven-sized hole.

Gargant climbed the door and, gesturing for him to follow, disappeared into the hole.

With a bit of apprehension, Morr complied.

The hole led to a tunnel that looked hewn into the rock. Cramped and dark, it made feel Morr immediately more at ease, especially after all those giant chambers and whatnot.

He scuttled forward on all four, Gargant's black shape guiding him.

Eventually, the tunnel ended into the middle of a wall of another chamber.

Morr dropped down from on the ceiling, and looked around. The chamber was small, but not cramped, the air warm and musky. Cozy, by Skaven standard. Amassed against a side, just under the hole, there was a mountain of rubble, both wooden and stones. Morr deduced that it was the barred entrance. Just opposite to it, a pile of blankets piled up against a wall. It was a nest, built to last and, judging from the mighty stink, inhabited by a bit of time.

Beside it, a ancient-looking chest stood, its intricate carvings marking its elven origins. Gargant was rummaging in it, a strange expression on his snout.

Morr fidgeted, unsure of what to do, when the black-furred straightened up.

He advanced toward him, a bottle in his paw.

"Here." He said, pushing the object in Morr's paws.

Morr watched it and them him, perplexed.

Gargant smirked.

"We have to celebrate, yes?"

"Oh."

"Here." A fancy-looking glass was thrust into Morr's paws.

He looked at it with hesitation.

"Oh, alright." Gargant said after a couple of seconds.

He snatched the bottle, snapped its neck with a chop and downed a big gulp of it.

"There!" He said, lapping at his snout. "No poison!"

Feeling shame for doubting, and on the other side shame for feeling shame, Morr took the bottle, filled his glass and downed it.

An explosion of spring erupted on his tongue and gums. Oh boy, it was good!

Eyes wide, he watched the glass, then Gargant, meeting his grin.

"Come." The black-furred said, turning around, and gesturing for him to follow.

Instinctually lapping at his lips to catch more of that explosive taste, Morr complied.

Gargant sat over the nest and, with a bit of hesitation, Morr sat by his side. He wasn't really used at having another skaven so close. He had always scrupolusly tried to mantain as much distance as he could.

Still, this was his brother, right?

No, the past was the past. He had to remember it.

"Now, get talking-squeaking." Gargant began.

Morr flinched back, suspiciousness flashing in his eyes.

"About what-what?"

"About what? You have to tell me-me everything." He said, and his expression didn't leave much room to answer.

For a moment, Morr though about lying. It was his life, his failures and successes. He was jealous of it, and, maybe, he could twist the truth to his advantage? He wasn't sure of how he could, but surely there was a method to it.

He though about it for a moment, but then he left it out. Something in him flinched away from the idea in disgust. He wasn't sure why.

And so, he began to talk, again, this time starting from the beginning and working his way to the present. He told him of how he and the litter had bee divided and how he had been thrown into a world much bigger and much more terrible that he could have ever imagined. He told him of his life as a scavenger, of his promotion to vendor and of the new rights and duties that that new condition brought with itself. It told him of the injustice, of his efforts, of his little satisfactions and big disappointments.

As before, Gargant listened to everything in silence, his expression and body language a mask of impassibility. Still, Morr, thanks to his esperience, managed to pick up much of his thoughts. He noticed how he ruefully aknowledged the realization of how the world outside the pit was much bigger than their mother's words could ever prepare them for; he observed a flare of pain at the mention of the litter and of their mother. He didn't press the issue, he felt it like it wasn't prudent to do it.

He talked and talked and talked, for he didn't know how much time. The bottle ended, and other two followed suit.

Morr drank without even stopping, until a comfortable warmth filled him and his thoughts ran sluggish.

Talking like that, having someone listening. It felt… nice.

Eventually, time came for him to return. Gargant told it to him suddenly, making his disappointment skyrockets.

"But, i have to bring something back-back." He said, his words coming slurred for how much he had drank. Why he had to go? He didn't want to go. He had… he had to make something good of all that, there!

Gargant didn't hear excuses. With a intent expression, he pushed him into the hole and to the other side of the door.

"Go here-here." He said once they were on the other side. He pointed at a corridor. "You follow this until the end and then you turn left-left and go all straight. You'll arrive to the places already scavenged-sniffed by the other rats."

Morr looked into the corridor. Sadness washed over him.

He looked at Gargant.

The black-furred was watching him intently.

"I… yes… i…" Morr stuttered. Yes, he had to go. He had to remember that the past was the past. He just couldn't trust Gargant, not anymore. He just…

He stepped forward. Then stopped.

He turned to Gargant. He felt his lip quiver and eyes sting. A mix of emotion was swirling into his chest.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Then, he lost it.

"I am so happy of seeing you again, broooo!" He wailed, jumping to hug the bigger skaven.

He felt him stiffen, but he didn't care. He was Gargant, his brother, and he wasn't alone anymore.

"I am so glad, so glad…" He sobbed, slobbering and sniffing all over his cloth armor. "It's always all so hard-hard. Nobody ever helps me-me, and Kabrak beat and robbed me, and i can't ever do anything right-right and and… bro, i am so happy-happy of seeing you!"

He felt him shift slightly, his paws moving over his shoulders, like he wasn't exactly sure of what to do.

They remained like that for a moment, Morr sobbing and whining and Gargant silent.

After a bit, the torrent of emotion passed, and Morr, realizing what kind of poor perfomance he was giving, stepped back, sniffing.

"I-i am sorry." He murmured. "It must have been the wine-drink."

He stiffened at feeling Gargant's paw over his head.

"I too am happy of seeing you, brother. Really."

Morr felt a stab into his heart, a push that was both painful and joyous. He nodded stiffly and, without saying anymore, he turned around and scuttled away.

He remained aware of Gargant's gaze over him all time, a powerful shadow that stood there, in silence.

His brother.

In the end, Morr didn't reach his home. The drunkeness of the wine took the better of him first. Still, even as he laid in one of the many tunnels out of Snoutdeep, on cold, hard stone, a smile was on his face.

He had met his brother again.


	7. Chapter 7

When he came back to, Morr did it in a great mood and, surprisingly, no hangover. Alright, his body hurt by having laid for hours on hard stone, and one of his sides was stiff with cold, but that did nothing to sour his humor. His brother! He had found his brother! And that meant that he wasn't alone anymore! He finally had an ally!

As he limped along the tunnels of Snoutdeep, a gigantic grin on his snout, his mind swirled with the myriad of possibilities that had opened before him. He and Gargant could work together! Maybe, the black furred could scavenge and he would sell the trinkets! They could open up their own store! Ecstatic shivers took him as he remembered how his brother had banished those horrible apparitions. With his smarts and Gargant's strenght, they could delve deeper than anyone in the ruins, bring back more than anyone else, sell more than anyone else. They could become rich! Respected! Powerful!

Even better, he could finally let go of that stupid group of idiots and betrayers that had always been dragging him down. Ah, he could already immagine the face of Throttle when he would see his new bodyguard! Even Kabrak would have to step lightly from now on! Alright, Gargant wasn't as big as he had thought, a bit of a big disappointment there, but it didn't matter. He would have plenty of advantages even like that! Ah, sweet sweet satisfaction!

His mind moving by a pleasant dream to the other, Morr made his way to the main feeding den of the warren.

There, in a dingy, large cavern with a low roof and a splattered floor, rows of troughs were set up to offer nourishment to the populace of the warren. The stink of rotten food, sweat and musk hung heavily in the stale air, but none of the writhing mass of skaven that clamored and climbed over themselves was bothered by it. You wouldn't ever say, from the impetus with which the ratmen pushed and tripped, beat and scratched each other, that the food offered was a mix of crushed grain, mushrooms and various garbage that in the surface world would have been served only to pigs. And still, food was life and life was everything into the Underworld, and so the skaven battled tooth and nail to have their fill. Wounds were allowed, but the bloodshed was kept at a minimum by the massive numbers of stormvermin that, deployed all around the chamber, oversaw the feeding operations in full battle regalia. Feeding time was a delicate moment, during which a riot could spark any second.

Morr made his entrance into the squealing and squeaking choas of the feeding den in a different manner than usual. Usually, he would make his best as to pass unobserved. Runts like him were more likely to be bullied, and wounded and maimed, during the times in which his brethren were stomach-full, that is, when they were the most confident. Being things like that, the best method was in fact to hide as much as possible, wait for the majority of the ratmen to eat, and then go to gather what remained. One was sure of get some kick by the annoyed stormvermin, anxious to close shop and go do other things, but at least it was better that to risk the wrath of the mob. And then, Clan Zappik was a relatively rich clan, that made sure of feeding its subjects. A patient skaven could always expect to find something to fill his stomach with.

That day, instead, Morr entered into the feeding den during the moment in which it was the most crowded, with head and tail held tall, and a smug swagger marred only by the small limp that he dragged behind.

That unusual, unprecedented behaviour attracted the attention of many eyes.

And one of the rules to survive amidst the skaven, if you weren't a big stormvermin, was exactly to avoid that kind of attention.

Still, Morr's good humor continued unabated as he stared at the chaotic mass of his brethren trying to get their fill. Even if a good number of skaven had already took their handfuls of mush and they were busy munching on it out of the mess, throwing suspicious glances all around, a glance was enough to him to realize that it would be impossible to actually reach the troughs without getting heavily beat.

Irritating, but not surprising. He could cope with that.

His good mood wasn't spoiled even when he noticed a stormvermin gesturing in his direction while whispering in chieftain Snoutrut's ear. The same was when the chieftain marched in his direction, a scowl on his snout that said much about his actual thoughts.

Alright, Morr felt his musk glands clench a bit, especially when a skaven not fast enough to get out of the way of the chieftain was thrown bodily into the air, but that was normal.

"You-you, vermin!" the chieftain barked aggressively in his direction. Morr barely suppressed a squeak when the big skaven roughly grabbed him by an ear, twisting his head by a side.

"Where-where are my treasures?" He hissed, his snout barely a palm away from Morr's.

It took Morr a considerable effort to remain still while the pestilent breath of the chieftain wafted over his face. He swallowed. Horned Rat, he was so big.

"I-i…" He began, voice trembling. A sharp twist of his ear was all the encouragement he needed to overcome his hesitation. "I-i have made exploration, great-mighty lord!" He squeaked frantically. "I have explored, yes-yes. Marked places! F-found staches of treasures, yes-yes! I only didn't have time-moments to get it-it! Dead-things attacked me! I-i will get it all next time, i swear! Yes-yes!

His rant ended in short, panicked breaths as the chieftain's slitted eyes scanned him with intensity. Snoutrut had the look of one in deep thought and Morr waited for a panicked moment the response.

Another sharp twist of his poor ear signaled the end of the thoughtful phase.

"Listen me well-well now, vermin." The chieftain hissed right into his ear. "The Tradelord isn't happy with little rats-runts going around in the ruins by themselves, yes-yes. He said it was Snoutrut's fault-blame for letting it happen. And Snoutrut isn't happy-glad of this. Not even a bit. So, now you-you stay put for a bit and do the good-good rat. Snoutrut told you to not go into the ruins-forts anymore. The Tradelord get happy, and so Snoutrut doesn't get the blame-fault anymore. Then, when all is calm again, you sneak-sneak into the ruins, get treasures and bring it to Snoutrut. You do this alone-alone. Snoutrut told you not to go-sneak, you did it-it by yourself. You do this and Snoutrut forgive-forgets, you don't and Snoutrut kill-eats. It's that clear?"

Morr nodded frantically.

"Good-good."

A last twist, and Snoutrut let him go and stormed away without another glance.

Morr remained there, heart thumping and ear throbbing painfully, trying to regain his wits.

Alright, that went more or less as he expected it. Snoutrut was a fool to send him in again and expect to not get connected to the thing anymore, but not enough of a fool as to not wait a couple of days to let the things calm themselves. And, more importantly, not enough of a fool as to eliminate a possible source of free income. Every chieftain had his own, after all.

He had hoped to have something in hand to show him that he wasn't useless, but things had gone as they had gone, and there was little use in complaining.

Still, as he tried to calm himself, Morr thought that maybe, just maybe, it hadn't been the most cunning thing to present himself like he had done. He had to be more sneaky about it, keeping things more under control.

Still, he had Gargant.

That thought emboldened him. He could honor his promises, yes.

Still, for the moment, better to lay low, yes, slide under notice. He had enough of a satisfaction entering like he had done.

Trying to ignore the pangs of hunger, he made his way out of the feeding den.

When he returned, a reasonable amout of time later, his thoughts had shifted from scheming and planning to simple sustenance. His stomach had become a vortex of hunger and the unpleasant sensation of his body trying to eat itself scratched against his conscience. Even more irritating, there was a strange chattering sound in his ears. He hadn't noticed it during the conversation with Snoutrut, but now it was getting more and more grating. He really hoped that that brute of a chietain didn't break something in his ears with those big paws of his.

The den, now a splattered mess, was filled only with the runts that had to wait for their turn to eat. They were a little group of scrawny, pitiful things, and Morr had no trouble to find a free trough. Any anxious thought was shooed away as he sank his snout in the mush that still remained on the bottom.

Ah, sweet sweet food. It filled his pained stomach with delicious warmth. Taste was an afterthought, as much as the sludge-like composition of the mix. What it mattered, was that he was making his fill, and he would live another day. That simple knowledge was enough to repay him of every fatigue and every pain, every delusion and every fear.

Eventually, Morr straightened himself up with a deep sigh of relief. Oh, boy, what a buffet! It was abundant today!

He was lapping at his mush-splattered snout, basking in the pleasurable sensations of a filled stomach, when a particular skaven attracted his attention.

Throttle.

Morr freezed. Throttle was there, gingerly peeking from the entrance of the feeding den.

Their eyes met for a split second, before those of Throttle moved to the backpack that Morr was still wearing. They remained there for a moment, then the skaven disappeared outside.

Morr got up hurriedly, alarmed. If Throttle was there, then Kabrak and his goons couldn't be very far.

Without thinking, he ran to the entrance of the feeding den. Outside, the tunnel was crowded with runts about to enter or little groups of stragglers remained behind to talk and chitter between themselves.

Of Throttle, no trace.

Sniffing nervously, Morr threw a last glance around, before hurrying away. He had to arrive to his den before something bad happened.

All his senses were alert as he scuttled fast down the tunnels of the warren. That strange chatter was still alive in his ears, but he made a point of ignoring it. It was probably only the sounds of the warren's inhabitants echoing down the tunnels.

It was break time in Snoutdeep, and the skaven crowded the tunnels, busy with bartendering, fighting, talking or just skulking around without nothing to do. Many just lied on the sides of the pathways in heaps of snoring fur.

Nobody noticed Morr as he sneaked his way through, eyes darting around in search of stormvermin or, worse, Kabrak. They had probably waited for him to return from another expedition, to rob him again, but, since he had taken another road and then fallen asleep into the deep tunnels, they had probably waited for nothing. And now they were without of doubt angry, pissed and on the hunt for some blood. If they caught them in that moment, now that he had no treasure to give, they would beat him to death, he knew that. That knowledge put ice in his veins, but he made his best as to not let panic take control. Now, more than ever, he needed all his wits.

Slinking through the crowd, with their chatter droning in his ears, he gingerly made his way through the tunnels.

He stopped abruptly at an intersection between two tunnels, head darting left and right to catch sight of dangers. All that he could see was only the endless parade of his brethren. Tall, small, large and scrawny, furred and naked, teeth chattering and tails swishing. It was a fairly relaxed moment, all the skaven too tired from the work and too weighted down by the food as to being quarrelsome. They would begin soon again, but not in that moment. And still, between all that crowd there could be enemies, eyes of the chieftain waiting to sell his tail in exchange for a fistful of food.

Morr shook his head with anger. That chatter was beginning to grate on his nerves, dammit. Why the heck they couldn't talk with a lower volume?

He dashed down the tunnel, making sure of always moving between the crowd, and to stay as low as possible. It was in moments like those that he was glad of being small, well, if being small wasn't the exact reason why he found himself in those kinds of moments.

Suddenly, he froze.

A stormvermin bearing the colours of chieftain Kabrak was making his way down the tunnel, coming from his opposite direction. It was a big, tall specimen, swaggering his way through the rapidly moving mass of clanrats, and clearly enjoying it, judging by his wide grin.

Panicking, Morr watched left and right in seach of a hiding spot. He found it into a group of skaven that were already rising from their seating spots to make way. He ran behind them as they moved, hiding in the space between them and the wall of the tunnel.

At the suspicious or curious glances that he received, he answered with a the smile of teeth and a motion of slashing with his talons. He was at the corner, with death like the only result to failure, that was more than enough of a motivation to slash the face off of anybody that tried to be a smartass, even if he had to renounce to an ear to do it.

Even the group of skaven seemed to under stand that, and nobody tried to shoo him away. Instead, they grinned, glancing at each other knowingly.

Morr blinked, not understanding. Realization hit him soon, as the group of skaven moved all together to make way to the stormvermin, crushing him against the wall.

Morr squeaked as pain flared in his body and breath escaped his lungs. He writhed against the mass of fur pinning him down, but stopped soon after. Like that, nobody could see it.

He gritted his teeth, trying to gather more air as possible from his nose, and waited.

The stormvermin passed with agonizing slowness, his gait slow and deliberate. So much that, when he was finally far away enough, Morr was about to suffocate.

Flaring in anger, feeling his lungs burning, he raised a paw and slashed at the back of the closest of the skaven pinning him down. The ratman squealed and jumped away, releasing a bit of pressure.

Morr gasped and wheezed, filling his lungs as much as he could. He squeaked and slashed again, and another skaven had to jump away.

That was enough of a message for the rest, and they moved away hurriedly.

Pressure disappearing suddenly, Morr fell down, ending on his knees and elbows. Pain exploded into his side as a kick reached him. Chattering, he rolled away from the wall, ending against the legs of his assailant. Fear and anger fuelling his motion, he slashed upward blindly, feeling his talons bounce against something rough.

He didn't stop to try and attack again. He rolled up into a ball and rolled away again, moving to raise on a knee.

Panting, he found himself staring at the group of the skaven. Two, the ones that he had wounded, was watching him with a mix of hate and fear, paws rubbing at their backs. The rest with anger and naked fangs.

He didn't stop to discuss.

He turned and dashed away. Jeers, chitters and stones followed him, but, thankfully, nothing hit him.

Arriving at the corner, he quickly hid behind it. Panting, he watched left and right in search of any more danger.

Nothing. It looked like that there wasn't any goon of Kabrak around. At least, of what he could discern between the crowd.

Something touched his shoulder.

"Ehi."

"Eeeeeek!"

Heart leaping in his chest, Morr turned around and…

"Lurk?"

It was really him, the fourth member of their misbegotten group, staring at him with a midly puzzled look.

Lurk was a sickly-looking, honey-furred skaven with what looked like a perennial sad expression on his snout. His drooping eyes, marred skin and furr at patches made him look a lot more old than he actually was. Morr had always thought a miracle that a skaven like him had managed to reach actual maturity.

Seeing him there, in that moment, almost sent Morr reeling back.

"What the heck are you-you doing here?" He asked, shocked.

Lurk gave a couple of wheezing coughs before answering.

"I-i was searching for you." He said. His voice was a choked whisper. "Throttle sent me-me."

Hearing that name sent Morr bristling despite everything.

"What-what does he wants?" He asse roughly.

If Lurk noticed, he didn't give it away.

"He wants you-you to know that our group-claw works for Kabrak now, yes-yes."

"What?!"

"He said that from now on-on, we sell to him and his warriors-rats only, yes-yes. We bring him nice trinkets and he pays much-much."

For a moment, Morr was shocked. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. Throttle couldn't have actually…

He raised his clenched fists to his snout, trembling as he tried to just not explode, just detonate there like a warpbomb and blow up all that stupid warren.

"We vendors have the Tradelord's protection." He said, managing somehow to not scream. "We can keep a percentage of our earning for ourselves. If we work directly for a chieftain, it's our choosing. If Throttle put our group-claw under Kabrak, we will get secure sales, but he will take our percentage away. And if don't have what he wants? What then? He will send us into the ruins! He will send us to die-die!"

He had ended up on screaming, screeching straight at the other skaven's face. Still, Lurk didn't show any sign of reaction, his face remaining a mask without expression.

Furious, Morr assailed him. Grabbing him by the fur on his chest, he roughly pushed him against the wall.

"Why didn't you stop him, eh? Why-why you and that other moron-stupid let him do it? Eh? Why?" He squeaked.

He gasped as all the aches of the previous days seemed to fall upon him in full force, but didn't let the other skaven go.

Lurk watched him splutter and wheeze silently.

"And what's the difference?" He began slowly. Surprised, Morr raised his head. There was a sad resignation in Lurk's eyes, and he felt pierced by it.

"We die when the Tradelord decide to throw us back-back into the ruins, we die when Kabrak decide to have a laugh, or we die-die one day while we go to work. What's the difference?"

Morr felt all his anger and strengh leave him. Shocked, he let Lurk go and backed off, stumbling.

The other skaven slided at his knees, a paw moving to his neck. "Why we didn't say-squeak anything?" He asked. He coughed, slitted eyes rising to meet Morr's. "Because it's all the same. We die, one manner or the other doesn't change anything."

Morr wanted to say something, despaired to say something, but he couldn't. He felt a knot into his throat. He felt like a butterfly pinned to a wall with a needle, squirming in search of freedom, without realizing of already being dead.

"You're still young, and still don't get it-it." Lurk continued, relentless, ruthless. "I have seen you, running around, making a gambit after the other, jumping in dangers. What-what have they brought you if not pain? Have you ever actually moved forward of a step? There isn't nothing but this for us-us. Hope has never been for the likes of us-us. We're made just for mud and death."

The chatter resounded in his ears, maddenengly, and he felt dizzy. His vision swam, his knees buckled. He was about to collapse, he could feel it, he was sure of it.

Instead, he talked.

"You-you say to Kabrak that i am out-away of the claw." He said, and almost started. That dry voice that he was hearing didn't sound like his own at all.

Lurk sat against the wall. Like that, with his rags around him, he looked like a dead piece of fur thrown away to rot.

"He will kill you." It was the calm observation of an obvious fact.

"He will try." Morr replied.

He nodded, in aknowldgement, or maybe in salutation, he himself wasn't sure.

Then, he turned and ran.

He ran. Away from those eyes, away from those words. Away from what they meant and what they represented of himself and of his life and of his world. He ran, with the chatter in his ears and a single word that kept on repeating inside of his head like a condemnation.

Fleeting. Fleeting. Fleeting.

Him, Lurk, all of them, all of them.

Fleeting. Fleeting. Fleeting.

He ran blindly, uncaring of direction and of what he ran against.

He ran, ran, ran, trying to impossibly leave everything behind, to outrun the world and everything in it.

He caught a hole in his path and fell straight through it. With a squeal, he plunged down, smacking against rock and amidst cascades of dirt. He rolled and bowled, finally ending smashing face first against something hard.

"Ow!" He squeaked.

Dizzy, he raised a paw to his poor, beaten nose.

The chatter was still there, still going.

He gritted his teeth, anger flaring.

"Enough! Silence!" He screamed. Talons clamped around his head, he writhed and rolled, gasping, spitting, screaming his lungs out."I won't surrender! I refuse to surrender! Do you hear me? I refuse! I will kill you all! I will die, but i won't surrender! I am not Lurk! I am not Throttle! I am not like them! I won't surrender! I won't!"

It was a call full of desperate determination, one that brought tears streaming down his cheek and blood from where he had bit his lip.

And, with it, the chatter stopped.

Panting, Morr perked his ears.

He couldn't hear anything. The chatter, the sounds of the warren. Nothing.

It had all stopped.

Slowly, he picked himself up, looking around.

He was in a large cavern, sorrounded by darkness. He raised his head. Light streamed down in a tight colomn from a single hole in the ceiling above, creating a little circle of light just where he was. The height at which it was made him gasp. Had he really fallen from up there?

His ear twitched.

He had heard a sound, like scratching against rock.

Slowly, he lowered his head and peered into the darkness.

A pair of red pinpricks of light met his eyes. And another. And another. And another. And another.

Hisses. Scratching.

Agitation rising, Morr drew back. He started when the same sounds came from behind too. He turned and freezed. Pinpricks of red light. A moltitude. Watching.

Slowly, the hisses came closer, shapes coalesced from the darkness.

Morr felt his breath escape him.

Rats. Hundreds. Thousands of rats. They gingerly came closer, sniffing, chittering, their claws scratching against the rock.

Morr backed off until his back was at the wall.

The chattering was in his mind, he could hear it, he could feel it, taste it.

Those red eyes talked to him of secrets, old and dangerous. The chatter whispered to him of forbidden knowledge.

He closed his eyes and ears. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to hear

Still, he saw, and heard. And understood.

Chieftain Snoutrut collapsed on his chair with growl. He was in a horrible mood.

Stupid, little clanrat, and stupid him to have listened to him. He had gotten a king of a scolding from the Tradelord and what had he gotten from it? A little gem! Alright, it was a good gem, and a free one to boot, but it was still less, much less than he had hoped for.

Grumbling, he lowered his eyes on the table that made-up his post. The blasted elf-thing's puzzle stood half-done on the wooden surface. It seemed like it was mocking him!

With a snarl, the chieftain brought his fist down on the blasted thing. The pieces flew in all direction, fluttering in the air like coloured insects, before falling down.

Snoutrut blinked. For a moment, he had the impression of seeing something, moving in the air between the flying pieces.

He shrugged. Must have been his imagination.

He watched the scattered pieces, trying to remember what he was doing.

He started. Oh, fuck. He had just broken all his work! Now he had to start again!

Noooooo!

His eyes snapped open.

Something…

He raised his head from the position in which had fallen when he had dozed off.

There was a smell in the air, a smell that he was well aquainted with.

He grinned.

"Destiny is moving, it seems."


	8. Chapter 8

Thazzum Thazukson Ironhead didn't like to have his work interrupted.

It was more than a simple bother, it was a chance of his honor being stained. What if his brothers were to be assailed by the loathsome ratmen with him not being present? Every axe-blows that he didn't lay on the enemies of his proud race bearing down on his guardpost was a weight on him and all his clan.

Still, as an Ironbreaker, his duty went to the King first, and, if he called him in his presence, he was honor and oath-bound to answer.

But he didn't like it. Not a bit.

His iron boots resounded heavily over the ornated floor, their thumping, cadenced sounds echoing mightily in the great hall.

The throneroom of Karaz-a-Karak, the unconquerable, the Everpeak in the crude language of the manlings, was a magnificent sight to his dwarfish eyes. Arrayed against the walls, massive statues of the Ancestors Gods, their visages perfect in their stone-like features, gazed down at him. Gems, minute-like carvings and blazing runes decorated them, each forming a constellation of colors and wealth that made even the greatest monument of the manling a thatchet hut. Veins of gold crossed the smooth floor, their complex lines weaving across the most ancient stone to form the runes that symbolized the virtues and power of the dwarfish race. The ceiling, at least a hundred feet of height, bore the carved visage of Grungni, greatest and first of the Ancestor Gods and father of the dwarves, engraved in silver and gold and gromril.

Admiring the works of his ancestors, brought solace at Thazzum's dour thoughts. There was the true heart of the dawi, the center of his civilization, the roots of the mountain that his proud people was.

And still, his attention was attracted by what waited for him at the end of hall.

The Throne of Power, and, sitting on it, the one that symbolized truly what being a dawi meant.

Six dwarves, heavily armored and armed with great hammers blazing with runes of power, stood arrayed at both sides of the Throne. Their countenance was the same of the statues of the Ancestor Gods.

Another dawi, this one in flowing robes and with a white beard that touched the floor, stood at the throne's side. His deeply-lined face was stern and grim, and he held a great book in his hands.

Thazzum stopped before the steps that led to the great dais over which the Throne stood, the two guards that had accompanied him stopping two paces behind. He knelt dutifully, his perfectly oiled gromril armor not letting out not even a squeak of protest, the elaborated engraved plates moving seamlessly one over the other. He was bareheaded, as customs and respect demanded, his helmet held under the crook of his arm. His long black beard, coiffed in three thick braids and adorned with little plates and bracelets of copper and bronze, flowed over his knee. His head was, in stark contrast, completely bare, glistening softly at the light of the glowstones illuminating the great hall. His shield, engraved with the symbol of the Ironhead and painted with the color of his clan, was strapped at his back. His runic az, heirloom earned in battle by his great-greatsire, glinted at his waist.

Thazzum knelt. And waited.

The figure seated on the great Throne didn't give motion of having noticed him, nor Thazzum dared to speak.

He knew what obedience to the High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer entailed, and, secretly, he was deeply pleased by it. No High King should hurry to listen to a servant if not in time of dire need.

High King Thorgrim looked deep in contemplation of a great book opened on a golden ledger that stood before the throne. He browsed slowly through its pages, its mumbling managing to arrive even to Thazzum's ears.

After a while, he closed the book. Not with a sudden motion, snapping it close so that the sound echoed through all the throneroom. No, he closed it slowly, with reverence, its thump barely audible.

Thazzum knew that it meant that the High King was in a thoughtful mood.

"Thazzum Tazukson, of the Ironhead clan." The voice of the King was the deep rumble of the ravine that makes his way down the valley. "I give you permission to speak."

"You called for me, my king." The Ironbreaker replied, without raising his head. "And i have come, as my duty and honor dictates."

"And that's what is requested of you. Rise."

Thazzum obeyed, and laid his eyes over the High King of Karaz-a-Karak.

Thorgrim Grudgebearer was as stout and strong-limbed as a True Dawi King should be. His great, flowing white beard covered the magnificent suit of armor that he wore, its lenght and thickness the symbol of his great wisdom and age. The Dragon Crown of Karaz, splendid jewel born from the greteast ancestor's skills, sat upon his brow, glistening softly in the light of the throneroom. His face, worn by centuries of struggle, grudges and anger, was a map of wrinkles. And still, the light in his eyes was unbound. Now it was thoughtful, like the cloud-covered sky that has still to decide if make rain fall, but the Ironbreaker knew well how it could become as baleful as the gaze of mighty Grimnir, should the King being taken by fury. And woe to whoever aroused his wrath, because the Axe of Grimnir, the God Ancestor himself, sat on the lap of the High King, and its bite was death for Drakk, Thaggoraki, Urk, Zanguzaz and Umgi alike.

Thazzum had already been many times in the presence of the High King, being called to war with him, having fought and marched at his side, but each time, and that wasn't different, he felt awe in his chest to feel the mighty presence that the King emanated. Nor his awe for seeing the weapon wielded by Grimnir himself could ever diminish, no matter how many times he laid his eyes on its lustruous form.

It was enough to stir the fire in his heart, and it was needed a flick of will from him to quell it.

"I have called you from your vigil under the mountain for a very important reason." The King began. His eyes glinted with a knowing, amused light. "Because, i am sure, you're already angered enough to have been pulled out of it, so don't worry. I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for a more than good reason."

Thazzum lowered his head in aknowledgement. As expected from his king, he knew his inner thoughts.

"I would cleave my way through a sea of thaggoraki scum alone if that was your order, my liege." He said nonetheless, partly because respect dictated it and partly because it was the actual truth.

The ancient dwarf holding the book, the High Loremaster of the Karak, nodded approvingly, a calloused hand stroking his long, silvery beard.

The faintest smile appeared on Thorgrim's weathered visage. It was like the wind-swept face of a mountain had shifted slightly, making the shadows that coalesced all around it less thick.

"That's good, because i have a mission for you." He said slowly.

Thazzum stiffened slightly. His instict, and the tone of the king, told him that he wouldn't liked it.

"A convoy has to set off from Karaz-a-Karak in a week from now." The King said. "My son will be guiding it, and it's my desire that you and twenty of your comrades join him."

Thazzum caught the blow without flinching. Thankfully, his instinct, and he had learned to lend ear to it, down in the darkness, had warned him that something like that could happen.

He opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated.

The King was watching him intently.

"It… it will be a long journey?" Thazzum asked, and, to his annoyance, his voice didn't sound as firm as he had wanted.

The Loremaster's eyes, barely visible under the mass of his bushy brows, seemed to flare up with fire. Thazzum had to repress the instinct to flinch away from him. A true, faithful servant didn't ask such questions to the High King, he just obeyed. Not to mention the immense honor of being chosen to be part of the escort of the first prince. Thazzum knew all of that, and asking had pained him. Still, he had to know.

Thankfully, Thorgrim didn't seem angry. Instead, he looked faintly amused, the cobwebs of wrinkles around his eyes deepening with that expression.

"It will be, yes." He said with comprehension. "Still, you're one of the best Ironbreakers of our great keep, my son has explicitly asked of you to accompany him and it's my own desire for you to be part of this expedition." He leaned forward, watching him intently. "Do you understand?"

It wasn't a request, of course. The High King didn't need to ask, he just ordered, and only honorless oathbrekears would dare to contest him; and Thazzum Tazukson was everything but a honorless scum oathbreaker.

It was already an immense honor to have being chosen as the rappresentative of the contingent of Ironbreakers, because that was the motive for which he had been summoned, that was clear by now, to no mention the graciousness with which the High King had taken his irriverent question.

Even if pained him, the answer could be only one.

"I won't fail, my king." He said, bowing his head. "My armor, shield and body will be ripped asunder before any harm will befall your heir. That is my oath to you, and all the Ancestor Gods are my witnesses."

He bumped his gauntleted hand against his chestplate, the sturdy gromril giving a solid ding.

The High King straightened up on his throne, and something in Thazzum's eyes must have satisfied him, as he nodded, his expression returning to the severity that had made his name known in every corner of the Everlasting Kingdom.

"Very well. Then go, Thazzum Thazukson, return to your post, prepare your soldiers and your weapons, and remember your oaths because you will be held account for them, if not by me, by the Revered Ancestors when you will meet Them in the Halls Under The Mountains. You will receive more news about the journey later, by messenger. You are dismissed."

Words, the High King spoke, but it was the light in his eyes that brought to Thazzum everything that he needed to know. Faith was being placed in him, the faith of a lord that entrusted one of his most prized trasures, the blood of his blood, into his warrior's care. Faith that was a burden, and that it could become a curse, should it being wronged or betrayed. Thazzum felt the oath placed over him wrap around his heart like an iron band. Only success, or death, could ever hope to break it.

Still, he said nothing. Because he was an Ironbreaker, and he knew where his duties laid.

He bowed once, then marched away, doubts and regrets replaced by the thought of duty, and of the needs that had to be fulfilled before the journey could begin.

He felt the deep gaze of the High King boring on him all the way down to the Depths, well after the great doors of the Throneroom had closed behind him.

Morr came awake with a jolt.

"The rats! The eyes! The rats!" He squealed.

Panic flowed through him like liquid ice, his thoughts were in jumbled disarray. He patted himself frantically, trying to shake off the hundreds, thousands of rats that skittered their way upon his body.

Still, his paws felt nothing but his sweated fur.

He blinked, his movements slowing down as he continued to search what his mind screamed to him that was there.

Still, nothing.

Was that a dream?

He sighed as relief surged through him. Praised be the Horned Rat, it was only a dream.

Still, it really was?

Morr stiffened as his memory replayed what had happened. His meeting with Lurk, his escape, his… his fall into the hole and then, and then the rats!

And after that?

He noticed only in that moment of being seated on something hard. Cold, hard stone, in fact.

He raised his head and, with trepidation, he looked around.

He was in a chamber, its dimensions made impossible to discern by the shadows in which it was immersed. Light, a gloomy, greenish light fell just where he was, illuminating a little circle of jagged stone. All around, darkness was as thick and impenetrable as fortress walls.

As he peered in it, Morr had the impression of seeing shapes move in it.

He averted quickly his gaze.

Slowly, he got up.

The silence was a living thing in that place, as ancient as the darkness that had never seen the sun. It felt like a shroud covering everyone and everything.

Morr fidgeted, fear's slimy tentacles making their way around his heart. His eyes darted around.

He didn't know what to do, what to think.

Suddenly, light appeared. It came from above, illuminating a thin, sneaking path before him.

Morr started, but then leaned in that direction, sniffing with caution.

He couldn't feel anything.

Unsure of what to do and fearful, he just remained there, until he noticed something that filled him with fright.

The darkness behind him was advancing. Slowly, steadily, like the sea, it came forward. Morr could see shapes moving in it, hear the sound of scratching against stone and hissing.

Feeling his musk glands clench, he watched the path before him.

It looked like there was no other way.

He swallowed, and started to walk down it.

As he gingerly made his way down the path, between two walls of darkness that covered the horizon, he could feel eyes bearing down on him.

He couldn't see nothing, but vague shapes. He couldn't sniff nothing. He couldn't hear nothing.

And still, he felt them crawling on his skin, peering in his soul, eyes that stalked his movements. Silently.

He repressed a histeric sob. He was about to soil himself, he was sure of it.

Still, the darkness moved behind him, slowly devouring the path that he had just walked. He couldn't stop.

He was starting to fearfully wonder if there was an actual end to all of that, when the the light that marked his path illuminated something different than simple stone.

At a distance, it looked like a block of black rock. As he stalked closer, he noticed the greenish hues that mixed with the black, as well as the object that laid on top of it.

For a moment, marvel overpowered fear.

It was a lectern carved in blackened warpstone, jutting out of the rocky soil like it had sprouted by it and not carved. A great book laid on its surface.

Full of wonder, Morr got close.

The book was thick and ancient looking, notes and papers coming out of its pages. Its cover, swelled a bit from the mass of papers inside, was scratched and stained. Morr couldn't make out what it was portrayed on it. He could discern only a couple of jagged lines, their shapes belonging to the claw-marks of the skaven.

As he watched the tome, he felt its aura. It was a dark thing, heavy with the stench of years passed into the depths. It pulsed in his mind like a sickly, rotting star.

Morr raised his paws, then stopped. His gaze darted around. Could… could he touch it?

After a moment of hesitation, he extended his arms and put his paws on the surface of the book.

The dark sun in his mind pulsed with sickly vitality as he felt the rough, leathery surface. It was… pleasant.

Taking courage, Morr opened the book at the first page. There were words there, written in the language of the Skaven.

"To be Skaven is to scuttle alone." He read. He started at hearing his mind echoing in the darkness again and again. His eyes darted around for a moment, then returned to read.

"To be Skaven is to scuttle alone. Power is all, and a curse is to share it. Betrayal is cunning. Murder is strenght. Faith is weakness. Trust is madness. Harken now the teachings of the Horned Rat. Peer into the watching darkness."

Those words sent a shiver running down his back. He scrolled down with his eyes, but the text was interrupted by black stains. There were only a series of words that looked like had been written by somebody else on the original text.

Morr narrowed his eyes, trying to read them. They were smudged, like the ink had been thinned by water, and they said…

"The Vermintide…" He read slowly, barely making out the shapes of the words. "Lies… beyond… the second… empty… souless… hell…" And then, a single phrase, the hand that had written it firm and clear. "Gaze into the eyes of the great rat and despair."

He felt those words fall from his mouth like bars of lead. He felt a thrumming at back of his mind. The rotten sun was smoldering.

He raised his head.

A great statue of black granite towered over him. His visage was as baleful as the chittering darkness, his eyes as piercing and smoldering as the fires of creation.

Morr felt his soul laid bare before it, that gaze burning as painful as the sun that burned in his mind. Terror chained him, kept his mouth shut, his gaze blocked on that dreadful apparition.

The eyes, don't look him into his eyes!

That thought ran through his mind like a bolt. Animal instinct made him move. He cowered against the lectern, his snout sinking between the pages of the book, his paws covering his eyes.

He felt cold, frigid wind pass over him, chitters in his ears, the touch of teeth and nails running through his fur.

Then, nothing more.

He remained there, trembling, as silence filled his ears.

Eventually, he raised his head.

The darkness, the statue. It was all gone. He was in a tunnel, the familiar smells of damp, stale air and mould filling his nostrils.

He looked around frantically, heart thundering in his chest.

Nothing. He was alone.

Only then he noticed that he was holding something. He watched what it was and his heart jumped a beat. The strange, heavy book was in his paws.

He squeaked and almost threw it away. The object fell down with a heavy thud.

"You better pick that up, yes-yes."

Morr almost had a heart attack at hearing that voice behind him.

He snapped around, paws fumbling with his knife. He managed only to make it fall, but he didn't bother to try and pick it up. He recognized whom that voice belonged to.

"Gargant!" He squeaked.

"Brother." The big black furred raised a paw in salutation, then lowered it. He looked mildly disheveled, like someone just come back by a brief run. A big sack hanged from his shoulder.

"What's up-up?" He asked, with no particular emotion.

Morr didn't answer. Instead, he just watched him.

Gargant watched him back.

He frowned.

"What-what?" He asked.

Morr's lower lip began to tremble, his eyes watered.

Realization of what was about to happen flashed through Gargant's eyes. He stepped back, raising a paw.

"Wait a mom…"

"I was so scared! Broooo!"

"Goddammit, not-not this again!"

After another, embarassing moment of Morr hugging his big brother for dear life and crying his eyes out, and Gargant patting him on the head while trying to not throwing him away, the duo made their way down the tunnel. It had turned out, to Morr's complete surprise, that they were just a bit of distance away from Gargant's little den.

It was with a massive relief that Morr accepted his brother's proposal of going there to rest, and it was with a special kind of pleasure that he leaned heavily against him for all the way. Gargant left him.

As he walked, Morr clutched the strange book against his chest. A part of him would have happily left that tome down where it had fallen, but the other, backed by Gargant's brief warnings, pushed him to pick it up. Still, he just didn't manage to think about it right now. Instead, he focused his attention on the other skaven.

The last time they had met, Morr had passed the entirety of the time being scared out of his wits, talking without stop or just plain drunk. Now, with his mind trying to distance itself as much as possible from the experience he had just been in, he found himself snatching frequent peeks at his brother.

The truth was that he just didn't get him. As a ratling, as a fool, naive ratling, he had leaned heavily against him, trusting him to be his shield and bodyguard against the bigger rats of the litter. Even then, he had never understood why he was the way he was, just helping him without getting nothing in exchange. Now that he was a full matured skaven, aware of how the world worked, he couldn't but keep on asking the same questions. Why Gargant helped him? Just why? Earlier, he realized it only now, he had left himself get taken by enthusiasm, already dreaming of how them two, together, could work to reach better standings. Now, without dreams of the future to blind him, he couldn't but ask. Why?

No skaven did something without getting a gain out of it, that was one of the real laws of their savage world.

But what Gargant's gain in helping him was?

"What?"

Morr started. He hadn't realized being watching him still.

Gargant looked back, an inquisitive look on his face.

"Ehm-ehm, i…" He stuttered, mind running in search of an excuse.

"Where did you get that?" Gargant's expressionless gaze had moved to the book.

Morr stopped, blinking. Watching the book that he held in his paws, feeling his weight, brought back bad memories.

"I-i…" He lowered his head, fear knotting his tongue.

Gargant watched him for a moment with an enigmatic gaze, before turning to look to the path again.

They walked in silence for a while, but Morr felt that the question lingered.

Slowly, he found himself talking. Like the first time, when he asked him to tell him of his life, his barriers and suspiciousness fell, and he told him everything.

It made him feel strangely better, like a weight had been taken away from his chest.

Gargant grunted when he eventually finished his story.

"Big stuff." He commented. "Big-important stuff. Keep a hold of that-that. Do not lose it."

"Do…" Morr found himself asking. "Do you-you think that i should read-see it?"

Only a slight clenching of the jaw revealed that Gargant was in thought.

"Yes." He said eventually.

Morr lowered hi head with resignation. Something in him already knew that that was to happen, but hearing it from Gargant too added a layer of despair to his disquiet.

"I-i… i think that it was the Horned Rat." He murmured.

Gargant grunted. "Me too-too."

"It means good? Or bad-bad?"

"Dunno."

"It's a-a gift. So, it's good, right?"

"Maybe."

"I am scared, brother."

Gargant didn't answer. Still, Morr felt his paw around his shoulder clench slightly. That, despite everything, managed to quell his fear a bit.

Eventually, they arrived at the little chamber that made for Gargant's house.

Morr left himself sink into the grubby little nest with a sigh of relief. While walking, he hadn't realized how tired he was. Now, he had the impression that all his body was a single, gigantic ache. It had been an eventful bunch of eventful days, to say the least.

He had already closed his eyes when Gargant talked again.

"I am going out for a bit-moment." He said, rustling in his chest.

Morr turned around to watch him with a snap.

"Y-you are…?" Then, realizing what he had said, "Ehm, o-of course, you go, yes-yes. No problem."

He had to remember, he was a skaven, and the skaven were all enemies of his. All of them.

"Yes." He said, turning to him. He had taken out a stained blanket from inside the chest.

Before Morr could talk, he had thrown it over him, covering him.

"You stay here." The black-furred said. "Rest. I return soon-soon." Then, without another word, he climbed in the hole and disappeared.

Morr watched him go, wide-eyes, speechless.

He watched the blanket draped over him. Then, he left himself go in the nest, sighing.

He didn't get it. He just didn't get it at all.

His wandering gaze fell over the book, now laying at his side. He recoiled from it, before pushing it away slowly.

Then, he tried to rest.

As he searched for a comfortable position, he noticed that he still had his backpack on. Horned Rat, from how much time was he carrying it?

With a light scowl, he raised himself up and took it out.

As he held it in his paw, he frowned.

It felt a bit too heavy. Strange.

Curious, he opened the mangy string holding it close and watched inside.

He left it fall with a yelp, and scrambled away from it.

He remained away for a moment, panting, heart hammering. It couldn't be…

Gingerly, he moved near to the fallen backpack, and raised its cover.

It was there, barely glistening in the gloom of the chamber. The sturdy-looking book that he had found into the ruins and then discarded. It… it was there.

Morr gazed at it, speechless. Then, turned to look at the other book. It looked like a big, black thing in the gloom of the chamber, crouched and waiting.

Morr could feel a headache coming. Not one, but two books. Oh, no way, not now.

Shaking himself up, he grabbed all the nest and, ignoring his body's protests, dragged it away from both the objects, to a corner of the room. There, he jumped on it and cocooned himself into the blanket.

Even living them his back, he still could feel the presence of both the things. Still, his mind swirled with thoughts of them, and of his strange, enigmatic brother.

He just didn't get it.

Thankfully for him, sleep took him soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Morr's sleep was stormy, his mind going back and forth between drowsiness and a restless slumber full of unsettling visions. Vague figures of danger flew before his eyes, and he felt heavy chains holding him down.

Eventually, when he came back to, he panicked for a moment, scared by the dreams and by not recognizing where he was. Realization hit him just after, and he sighed in relief. He was doubly happy for the fact that the images that had disturbed so much his sleep slipped right away from his memories. It remained only a sense of danger and fear, like the warmth left by a forest fire.

Wishing to distract himself from it, he raised his head.

Gargant was in the den. The black-fur was rummaging in his chest, giving his back to his brother.

Morr frowned a bit at seeing him. He hadn't heard him return. Curses! He had to be more alert!

He watched him silently, trying to not alert him of being awake. His brother. He was still unsure of what to think of him. Yes, a part of him wanted just to consider him an ally -he felt shamed at remembering the pitious perfomances that he had given before him - but, he knew better than that. He had grown, and learned. He wasn't a fool nor a ratling anymore. Gargant was a Skaven, and, as such, a potential enemy. He had to be on the lookout around him, understand what it made him tick. Then, and only then, he could formulate a plan to make an pawn out of him.

That was how it worked.

He was still watching him, when the black-fur turned around.

Morr started, but Gargant didn't look surprised at seeing him awake.

"You're awake." He just said, nodding.

There wasn't particular expression coming from him, at least that Morr could pick up. That irritated him a bit.

He just nodded.

Gargant came close and sat on the floor, a bit of a distance from him.

Morr noticed how it was just the right distance for him to feel safe, but said nothing. He just registered the detail.

"You squeaked-talked a lot while you slept." The black-fur observed.

Morr's eyes turned downcast. He didn't want to talk about that.

"What's that?" He asked, trying to change topic. He gestured at the object that Gargant held in his paws.

It was a a robust-looking wooden stick, ending in a heavy knot, like a mace.

Gargant watched it for a moment, before handing it to Morr.

"Here." He said, emotionless.

Morr watched the object, blinking. Then turned to Gargant, a question in his eyes.

The black-fur shrugged.

"You suck with the knife-stab. Might as well try with something else-different."

Morr bristled at that comment.

"I-i don't suck!" He declared vehemently.

"I could have killed you earlier. In a whiff-moment." Gargant pointed out.

Morr flinched.

"Y-you just caught me by surprise-scare!" He protested.

Gargant didn't look impressed. Instead, he took out a knife and handed it over to Morr together with the stick.

"Prove it next time." He just said.

Morr glared at him, before snatching away both objects. Gargant left him.

"Hungry?" He asked.

Sulking, Morr nodded.

As the black-fur returned to rummage again in that blasted chest of his, he looked at the two weapons in his paws.

The knife was an old, chipped thing, made too blunt by time and use for slashing and barely good for stabbing. Still, it was the only weapon he had ever had. He shivered at bit at remembering how he had picked it out a skaven skeleton that he had found in the tunnels.

In comparison, the mace-stick was a piece of work. Long enough for him to use it as a cane, it was all smooth and felt good in his grasp. It looked sturdy enough to be used to bash a skull in, but still it felt light as a feather. There was a strange symbol etched in its surface, but he couldn't make out what it meant. It looked elvish, though.

He peeked at Gargant's back. Giving him weapons now? What was his deal?

He narrowed his eyes, thinking. Maybe… maybe, since he was a big black-fur, he was thinking of him like a new minion he could use. And, logically, a minion was only as good as his tools. So, giving him weapons made sense, since it made him more effective in carrying out whatever thing Gargant wanted from him.

That realization made Morr's pride flare with outrage. Ah, so he thought of him like a pawn? And, obviously, not even a pawn dangerous enough to keep without dangerous weapons. Or to not give his back to.

He glared at him, anger boiling in his chest.

He was still glaring when Gargant suddenly turned around.

Morr started, but still had the presence of mind of hiding his thoughts behind an expressionless mask. Not fast enough, though, and he noticed the flash of realization in Gargant's eyes.

Still, the black-fur didn't say nothing. Instead, he retook his place on the floor, and handed to him a little worn-out satchel.

Putting down the weapons, Morr took it automatically, wondering if he had actually seen that flash of awareness, or it was only his imagination.

He peeked inside the satchel. It was half-full of the sandy stuff that he had already eaten.

"Starting to get difficult to take-scavenge, that stuff." Gargant said. "I had to move-move a lot to find enough."

Morr watched him quizzically.

The black-fur shook his head.

"Already eaten." He said. "Go ahead."

Morr watched him for a moment, before obeying. The stuff was sandy as usual and felt dry on his tongue, but he rejoiced at the possibility of eating something. As any respectable Skaven, at least.

"When you've done-eaten, you can go-scuttle where you want."

Morr almost choke. He coughed and wheezed, wide eyes rising to watch him with disbelief.

Gargant just smirked.

A couple of vigorous smacks on his back, and Morr was free of breath once again, of continuing to eat and, more importantly, of trying to wrap his mind around the mistery that was Gargant.

If he wanted to make of him a pawn, what was the point of sending him away like that? He could very likely decide to never come back.

He just didn't get him.

They remained in silence for a couple of moment, Morr munching away and thinking, while Gargant humming to himself.

"What are you going to do-do with those things?"

Morr returned from his line of thought to watch him without under standing. What was he talking about?

Gargant gestured at his side. Morr followed his gaze, and felt his guts clench at noticing the two books.

The two objects still laid where he had left them.

Morr sharply returned to concentrate over what he was eating.

"I dunno yet." He murmured, the shadows of fear caressing his heart. It felt like the gloom in the chamber had suddenly become thicker, or it was just his immagination?

Gargant left pass a moment of silence before talking again.

"Remember to take them with you-you when you go, though."

Morr was about to nod, when something else returned to his memory. Something that made him clench his teeth slightly.

"I cannot return." He said.

It was barely a whisper, but still Gargant heard him.

"Why?"

Anger, outrage, fear and sheer disbelief rushed though Morr's system. For a moment, he fiddled with words. Then told him everything; his sneaking around and why, his meeting with Lurk, their conversation and why he couldn't return, at least not if he didn't want to be killed.

Gargant listened as his way was: in silence, without showing particular emotion. His smell was a solid, neutral thing. Morr was starting to get used to it.

Still, saying it made him finally understood the actual weight of what he had done. He couldn't return. At least not while Kabrak was still alive. Terror, despair and a strange form of relief swirled in his chest in single heavy knot.

"I get it-it." The black-fur just said when he stopped talking.

Morr peeked at him, searching for a reaction. Seeing him so enigmatic sent a bolt of disappointment running though him, but he wasn't sure why.

"Well, that's okay." The black-fur said. "You-you can stay here."

Morr's eyes snapped to him, wide and full of surprise.

"I-i can?"

Gargant watched him like it was obvious.

"Of-of course." He nodded. He jerked with his head toward the two books. "So you get time to read-read those two too, right?"

Morr was unsure of what to think.

"Right." He ended up on just saying.

Suddenly, Gargant got up.

"Where-where are you going now?" Morr asked.

Gargant stretched himself.

"Gotta go-go to do somethings. Coming back soon-soon."

"What things?" Morr asked. For some reason, he felt unconfortable at the thought of him leaving.

Gargant flashed him a big grin.

"Not telling you."

Morr glared at him.

"Whatever!" He blurted out, crossing his arms before his chest.

Gargant chuckled softly.

"Coming back soon-soon." And, said that, he turned around and climbed out of the hole.

Morr kept his ears perked up until he couldn't feel his steps anymore. It happened soon enough. He was big, but he knew how to sneak, that was sure.

As much was as sure that he didn't get him.

He just didn't.

What was his game? He thought he had got him, and a moment after, he scrambled everything he thought was right with his strange demeanors. And, even more importantly, why the silence left in his wake felt so heavy?

Morr interrupted that line of thought with a click of teeth.

No point on thinking about it. He just had to be wary around him. That was it.

He turned to look at the two books still strewn in the dust.

So, it was over. His projects in the clan, his dreams of rise though the social ladder. Over. Just like that.

Strange. It didn't feel as devastating as he thought it would be. He thought he would be screaming his lungs off, spitting and trashing.

Instead, after the first impact, now it felt almost a relief, really, like someone had just took away a heavy burden from his shoulders.

Maybe, just maybe, he had always known that it would have ended like that.

He shook his head.

Nonsense. Nothing was over. In fact, it was a new beginning. And a glorious one to that. That was why he felt like that. And it wasn't like he hadn't had his own bouts of trashing and screaming - he blushed at remembering that -.

He grinned, his eyes scanning the book that he had recently received.

What else it could be if not a gift from the Horned Rat? Oh, glorious, glorious day! For him, to be chosen for such a high honor, to receive knowledge by the Great One himself. Reverential awe filled him. What was to lose the opportunity of owning a miserable shop before such a gift? Before the misteries that without a doubt were hidden inside those hallowed pages? Before the… the power?

Feeling positively giddy, he scuttled to the book. He hesitated, then leaned it to touch. His talons brushed against it and…

Teeth and chitters. A thousand eyes in the darkness. Watching. Always watching. Forever watching. It waits. It waits. It waits.

Morr drew back with a gasp. His vision swam, and he staggered. He remained still, blinking. Slowly, he watched the book.

He swallowed.

Maybe… maybe it was better to make some practive with something else before laying eyes upon such a glorious thing. His eyes darted around in the gloom of the chamber. Surely, the Horned Rat couldn't feel offended by it, right?

Taking a shaky breath, he turned to the other book.

He hesitated, watching around once again, before leaning forward. He squeezed his eyes shut when his fingers brushed it, but nothing came in his mind. Sighing inwardly of relief, he grabbed the book and picked it up.

He blinked in surprise. That thing was heavy!

Swaying a bit, he searched for a good point where to sit to read.

He scoffed. Pah! Every place was good!

He sat where he was.

He remained there for a moment.

Slowly, he shuffled his way to a corner and sat against the wall, making sure of having the other book well in sight.

"Right." He murmured, eyes darting to the object on the floor. Had it moved? No no, impossible. His head was playing jokes on him now.

He forced himself to focus on the book in his paws.

He had laid only a cursory glance on it the first time he had picked it up, so now was the first time he actually got a good look at it.

It was a big, bulky thing, the cover actually made by smooth sheets of silver metal. Engraved on the front, there was a a tree with many branches that stretched up and to the sides. On the back, the face of a long-haired elf watched him with impassive eyes.

Morr sniffed at the silvery surface, then scratched at it. What the heck was this book made from? It didn't feel like simple iron, and it didn't look like actual silver. Still, it was heavy and tough, and it felt smooth under his fingers. What the heck it was?

Morr fiddled with it for a couple of moment, before giving up. He made a mental note of trying to research what this material was. You never know when it could come in handy. Even if only as a bludgeon to smack fools around.

No visions or strange things, thankfully. That book had found its way into his backpack, somehow, but at least it limited the strange to just that.

At least for now.

Shivering a bit, he opened it. Beyond the front cover, there was an image. Beautifully painted with brilliant colors, it showed an elf in regal robes, the same on the back of the book if he wasn't mistaken, sitting on a stone bench. Colourful plants and flowers sorrounded him, and a strange gnarled tree towered behind him.

Still, the elf's solemn gaze was directed to the sky, where a great moon hung amidst a court of stars.

Morr felt felt a mix of awe and sarcasm at seeing that image. He had heard tales about the over-world and the lights in the ceiling-that-wasn't-a-ceiling, but that was the first time he saw an actual depiction of them. Still, look at that elf, looking all smug in his fancy pants and whatever. Pah!

Hissing softly, he flipped the page, stopping surprised at feeling its consistence. Even the pages was made of metal! That was why that thing weighted so much.

How strange. What they wanted to preserve so much as to build a thing like that? That's why he had the impression that thing could withstand a throw into a volcano. It probably actually could.

He shrugged. Well, better for him.

Grinning at the foolishness of the elf-things, he flipped the page.

Dismay took him as he took in the content of the following page. It was written strange!

He narrowed his eyes, trying to make a sense of the minute, tight scripture. Nothing. He couldn't not even underrstand what direction it had to be read.

Disappointment flooded him. What a waste!

Still, just as he was wallowing in that thought, something strange happened. The letters forming the text began to wriggle slightly.

Morr's eyes snapped wide. He rubbed at them, then turned to look. It didn't stop, in fact, they just wriggled stronger.

Before his startled eyes, the writing disappeared into a series of blurry shapes, then rearrenged itself. When it became still again, he found himself staring speechless at the claw-marks signs typical of his race.

Morr swallowed. Well, that was the least of the strange things that had happened to him. He could live with it, he supposed? Oh, boy. He wasn't sure if being concerned or happy to the fact of starting to get used to all of that.

Sweating a bit, he started to read.

"Magic " the text went. " is, as every self-respecting mage knows, the product of the dissonant energies of the Realm of Chaos penetrating in this plane of existence. We'll call these energies Aethyr. The Aethyr is composed by eight elements. We'll call these elements Winds. At the moment of entering our world, the Winds are meshed together in a single, chaotic mass, appropriate to their origin. We'll call this state of chaotic mesh Dhar, or Dark Magic. As they make their way into this plane of ours, the mesh lose coesion and divide in its eight forming elements, each moving into and to sustain a particular aspect of our world. From this, we can assert, and nor fear nor shame must stop us from doing so, that the Magic and our world is a direct product of the influence of the Realm of Chaos. This said, we pass at the notion of magic itself. Magic is the manipulation of the Winds to affect the physical and metaphysical world in a manner that wouldn't be possible in other way. Mage is called whom is able to direct and manipulate even a single Wind, but true mastery lies in the wise direction of all and Eight Winds in a single act of will. We'll call this high form of manipulation Qhaysh, or High Magic. It's in this form of control, and in its simple existence, where the eight Winds, opposed to the unsufferable chaos of Dhar, are harmonized and masterly arrayed together, that the words of the Ruinous Powers are shown in all their fallacy. Another form of existence to Chaos exist, as well as another form of perfection, and the mortal mind is capable of grasping them both."

Morr stopped reading, feeling a bit dizzy. Boy, this guy liked to talk, eh?

Still, a manual of magic? A book of actual, fricking magic? Oh boy, oh boy!

His paw raised to touch the stumps of horns protuding from his head. It could ever be? It could mean that that destiny, for which he had despaired, was returning to him?

He breathed in deeply, trying to keep the tingling sensation in his chest at bay. Alright, calm down, Morr, it was just the first page. It could mean anything.

He had to keep on reading, yes.

It was so exciting!

The text, disciplinately changing from the elegant curves of the elvish language to the rough claw-marks of the skaven as he moved through it, sucked him in. As page after page flipped before his eyes, he lost any measure of time, until only the flow of letters, thought and concepts remained. And what a joy was to take all of that in, learning, discovering, it was like eating a most delicious food and finding that it never stopped in showing more and more delicious tastes.

He was so immersed in the reading that he didn't even hear Gargant return.

"Ehi."

"Eeeek!"

Morr jumped, heart jumping in his throat. He watched at the black-fur for a moment, wide-eyes, before recognizing him.

"Oh, it's you-you." He glared at him, gasping. "Do you-you need to sneak up on me like that?"

Gargant didn't look particularly impressed by his outburst.

"I was here-here by a lot, you know." He gestured to the little fireplace he had set on the floor. "I was preparing food too."

Morr glared at him, unsure if he believed him.

"It's gonna make smoke-smoke." He pointed out, deciding to change topic. He really needed to work on his perception skills, it looked like.

"Nah."

Gargant turned around and went to sit beside the little fireplace.

Frowning, Morr followed him.

"Of-of course that it will." He insisted. "Fire makes smoke."

"Not the elf-things' fire." Gargant replied. "Look."

Morr did as he said.

And it really was as Gargant had said. The fire, a little thing on the floor, smoldered over a bunch of strange-looking crossed white sticks without giving not even a trail of smoke.

Despite the good smell, Morr felt disturbed by it.

Gargant shrugged at his look of disbelief.

"They ugly, but they knew what they did-made." He just said.

By his side, he had a bunch of little objects that looked like walnuts. Grabbing a jagged piece of wood, probably harvested somewhere in the ruins, the black-fur sticked a couple of the nuts on it, before laying them over the little fire.

"These ones need to be roasted." He explained. "Or they taste like crap-poop."

"Right."

Deciding that it was pointless to discuss about food, anything that came was good by him, Morr sat by the fire.

"So?" Gargant asked, without raising his eyes from the roasting nuts.

"What-what?"

"The book." Gargant said. "You read it-it?"

Morr nodded, peeking at him.

"Yes-yes."

"Good stuff?"

"Good enough."

"Not want to talk-squeak?"

Morr felt a big satisfaction at grinning at him.

"No."

Gargant glanced at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows, a flash of what could be amusement passing though his eyes.

"You didn't read that one, though." He noticed, gesturing toward the black book

Morr started, then looked at him suspiciously. He had moved the other book just as to not let him know that.

"How do you know-know?" He asked.

Gargant shrugged, the shadow of a grin on his snout.

"Just guessing."

Morr narrowed his eyes. He thought about pressing the matter, but something told him that he wouldn't receive no asnwer, so he just let it fall.

A moment of silence fell between them, interrupted only by the slight crackling of the fire.

"So, what now?" Gargant asked eventually.

Immersed in his thoughts, Morr took a moment to actually register his words.

"What?"

"I said, what now-now?" Gargant was watching him now, with that ever-serious look of his. "What are you going to do-make?"

Morr staggered a bit, unsure of what to say.

"Well…" He scratched at his head.

Right, what now? He couldn't return to the warren, at least not for a bit, and sure as hell he didn't want to just stay there and live off the charity of Gargant. And not only because he didn't know how much it could last, or what prices it brought with it. He had dreams to pursue. He couldn't follow them if he remained just in once place.

"I-i wanted to roam the ruins a bit-bit." He said tentatively in the end. He hesitated if telling him why he wanted to do that. He hoped of having him come with him. For that, he would have wanted to hear the motive, without a doubt. "The book that i have read-read." He said a bit grudgingly. "It said-squeaked that mages first learn to see-hear the magic. I-i wanted to see if i could manage."

He didn't confide him of his doubts, of course, he barely aknowledged them him himself.

"Oh, right." Gargant, that had remained to gaze at him until then, seemed to remember something. "You have that little horns on your head-skull."

Morr's paw flew at his head before he managed to stop it. He was surprised to hear that he still remembered them.

If he noticed his turmoil, Gargant didn't show it.

"Alright." He nodded. "I will come-scuttle with you."

"Why?"

Morr almost bit his tongue, but the question had already gone. Why the heck couldn't he just say yes and take it? It was that Gargant had totally surprised him with that!

Gargant looked thoughtful.

"Did have i already told-squeaked to you why i am here?"

"You said that you were hiding-scuttling away from something."

"Yes-yes. That." Gargant nodded. "I have made a bit of forays-scuttling into the elf-ruins and i have found-smelled a good-good weapon that i want. Good stuff. Still, i can't take it-it alone. You help me to take it and i help you-you do your thing, alright?"

There was no gestures of oath and sealed promises between the skaven. Things like those didn't mean anything in their world. So, Morr just nodded, while giving himself a mental pat on the back.

"Alright."

"Good."

Said that, Gargant returned to focus over the sticks roasting over the fire. It looked like the conversation was over.

Morr fiddled with the elf-book for a moment, thoughts rushing. The book suggested various methods to recognize if one had attunement with the Winds. He could hardly wait for trying them.

Trying to distract himself, he peeked at his brother.

Hearing him say, for once, what he wanted was almost refreshing. A side of him felt strangely disappointed, but the rest, the better part, felt more at ease knowing what Gargant wanted, and, consequentially, that he could rest assured that Gargant wouldn't try anything strange, at least until he needed help.

Ah, good old Skaven politics. They felt good.

Still, as Gargant passed him one of the stick with roasted nuts, a strange thought flashed though his mind. He never had the actual chance of talking to him of his idea of working together in a store.

How strange.


	10. Chapter 10

Return into the elven ruins wasn't really what Morr wanted, not after having already experienced them once. In fact, his latest troubles had cemented in him the idea that the farthest away ruins of any kinds were from him, the better it was.

Still, it was necessary, and so it was done.

Not that he was enthusiast about it.

Returning into the heavy atmosphere of the ruins was like jumping into cold water. As he put his feet down from having clambered out of the hole Morr let out a shaky hiss. He hadn't noticed how much of a little safe haven Gargan's den had felt, not until he had left it. The air outside of it bore down on him like a shroud.

He had readjusted his backpack over his shoulders, stuffing the elf-things' book in it. The other book instead, the scarier one, he had preferred tying it over the first, making sure that it was out in the open and visible. For some reasons, having it at glance lenght reassured him, at least a bit. It was a bit of a cumbersome load, but it was necessary. And then, it could always become useful as a shield for his back. The mace-cane was in his right paw, while the knife, since he could use effectively the other weapon only with both paws, was tucked into the string that he used as a belt. He had made a knot just to keep it still.

Trying to distract himself from the oppressing air, Morr turned to his brother.

Having clambered out first, Gargant was already there and ready to go, a big, worn-out pack on his back. He gripped a crude spear, a long stick ending into a point hardened and blackened over the fire. To Morr's mixed feelings, even so poorly armed, he didn't seem particularly touched by the strange atmosphere. Instead, as he adjusted the laces securing the backpack to his shoulders, he looked as serious and impassive as his usual.

Morr was starting to get used to it.

He shook his muzzle. Ack, what a bother. It felt like having insects flying around his snout.

"Elf-things build deep." Gargant mumbled suddenly.

Morr scratched his snout, trying to ease his irritation.

"So what?" He asked.

The black-fur didn't turn to look at him.

"They build so deep-strong that a bit of them remain attached-sticked. And they don't like us-us."

Grabbing his weapon, he turned and began to march down the corridor.

Morr, processing what he had just said, started and scurried after him. The last thing that he wanted was to remain alone in that place, that was for sure.

He stopped just behind his brother, adjusting his pace to match the black-fur's longer gait. He eyed their deployement for a couple of seconds, before nodding with satisfaction. If something arrived, Gargant would have been the one to bear the full brunt of it. Otherwise, he would have his big books to shield him. Not that he thought about using such treasures, especially the black one, as simple shields, oh no no no.

His eyes flicked around, searching for signs of god-angered punishment.

He sighed in relief when nothing arrived.

Anyway, his attention rapidly returned over the path.

The elven ruins, despite his secret hopes, hadn't changed. The ghastly, oppressive atmosphere. The richly colored frescoes and strangely-moving carvings. The unnerving lack of sounds and smells. What a joy.

The duo marched in silence through corridors and halls.

Morr's thoughts jumped between enthusiasm for the chances that seemed to being offered to him, fear and anxiety for that terrible place, and questions upon questions about that strange fellow that was his brother. And how it would have been very difficult for him to survive should have he decided that he didn't need him anymore.

It wasn't needed much time before his fur was coated in sweat.

He was so concentrated over his own juggling of thoughts, that almost smacked his nose against Gargant's back when the black-fur stopped suddenly.

His protests were rapidly stifled by Gargant's hissing warning to silence.

Morr started. What was happening? Dangers? Where? What? Of what kind?

He tensely waited for his brother to reveal what was happening.

He waited.

And… waited.

Gargant looked as stuck as a trunk.

Frowning, Morr raised his snout and sniffed the air. He could feel nothing. He perked up his ears. Nothing all the same.

More annoyed than scared now, he extended a paw and made to touch Gargant. He remembered his latest reaction to being grabbed. He decided to remain on voice only.

"H-hey." He called. His voice didn't come out as firm as he wanted, but that wasn't the point.

The black-fur turned just enough to stare at him with one eye.

"What are you doing?" Morr asked.

"I am listening." Was the curt answer.

"To what-what?"

"To the whispers-murmurs."

That had to be a good enough explaination for Gargant, since he turned around just after.

Morr's frown deepened. He couldn't hear anything at all. He perked up his ears as much as he could, straining himself to listen. Maybe… Maybe… nope, nothing at all. That place was as silent as tomb.

He wondered what Gargant's game was. Was he kidding? But no, what the point of it would be? And in that moment furthermore? Still, he remembered, the black-fur had looked like he wanted to make a pawn out of him. Yes, he had thrown that thought in disarray a moment after, but that could have been a scheme of his.

And now… maybe now he was showing his real colors. Morr remembered a overseer during his scavenger days that pretended of being able of hearing dangers and whatnot. He made great shows of his so-called powers, making strange gestures, mumblings and the like, all to cheat the poor rat laborers like him of even more of their hard-earned coin. Boy if that situation brough that overseer back to memory.

Plus, from what he had understood from his encounters with ghosts, he shivered at the memory, standing still in those places wasn't the best one could do; in fact, it was the opposite of what one had to do. Standing still meant to wait for ghosts to come and get you. It made sense!

Morr felt a wave of rightful anger rising in his chest. A-ah! That proved that his brother wanted to make a fool out of him! Showing that he had strange powers to keep him in awe and humbled, so that he could order him around! And to do that, he even put him in danger!

Reckless! Foolish! Unforgivable! He wasn't the pawn of anybody! He was a mage!

Pushed by his outraged ire, Morr stomped forward and gave Gargant a shove.

The black-fur barely stumbled, caught himself, then turned, a question in his eyes.

Feeling those eyes on him, Morr felt his determination stumble a bit, but he held his ground.

"What?" Gargant asked.

"Don't give me that-that!" Morr blurted out, his rightful wrath kindled even more by that obvious facade. He pointed frantically at him in accusation. "You know what you've done-done! You liar-sneak!"

The sheer bewilderement that sprung on Gargant's face was the strongest manifestation of emotion that Morr had seen him do, and that irritated him even more. He was good at faking, the imposter!

"What?" Gargant asked, looking like someone that had just come down to earth.

Morr wasn't intent on humoring him. He crossed his arms before his chest, trying to bore a hole in his brother's head with his judgement stare.

Gargant hesitated, looking disoriented.

"I was… i was listening to the whispers-murmurs." He tried to excuse himself.

Morr wasn't having none of that.

"Liar!" He declared, pointing an accusatory finger against him.

"But…!"

"I don't hear anything-nothing! You're lying!"

"But… but…!"

"You're lying to try and look-seem great and better! Admit it-it, you liar-cheat!"

Gargant looked ready to start fretting, he really did, but then, he seemed to catch himself.

He inhaled, then exhaled. He retook his serious air.

"I wasn't…" He pinched his nose with two fingers. Then, he seemed to recount something. "Earlier" he said "when you said-squeaked that you could hear nasty-bad whispers."

Morr eyed him with suspicion. Was he trying to change topic?

"What about it-it?"

"You said-squeaked that you could hear nasty-bad whispers, right?"

"Yeah, you just said it-it."

"Right. Well, now i can hear-hear it."

"I don't believe you."

Gargant's face scrounched into a grimace.

"Why?"

"Because you're a liar-sneak, that's why."

"That's stupid."

"You're stupid."

Gargant threw a hard look his way, but Morr didn't let himself get intimidated. He knew that his brother still needed him.

On his side, Gargant looked about to say something else, but he took it back.

"Whatever." He just said, and, turning around, took a turn into another corridor.

Morr, still neck-deep into his sulky-judgemental mode, was surprised by that sudden change. He started and scuttled fast behind him.

"Hey, wait!" He called. Gargant had got away surprisingly fast. "I wasn't finished talking, yes-yes!"

"I don't care!" The black-fur replied without stopping.

"Yes, you do!"

"No, i don't!"

"Yes, you do! You don't get to scuttle-sneak away from this, you liar-cheat!

"I am not a liar-cheat!"

"Yes, you are!"

"No, i am not!"

"Then you're cray-crazy, hearing whispers-murmurs and things!"

"You've been hearing it too-too!"

"I am a mage! We hear those things!"

"You got pretty little horns for a mage-seer!"

"Oh no, you didn't say that!"

"Oh, i-i am pretty sure i did!"

"That's it-it! You're gonna get it-it now!"

"Oh, and what you're gonna do-do, you shortie?"

"I-i… i am gonna decide the way! This way!"

"Oh no, you don't. We're going this way-way."

"Liar-sneak don't get to decide! We go this way now-now."

"Happy journey!"

"Ehi, you need me to get your thing-sword!"

"I will use your arm when i find you dead-dead."

"N-no funny! Wait! Don't leave me-me alone!"

Eventually, they ended, to Morr's chagrin, on following the path chosen by Gargant. Still, by dint of overhelming protests, he still managed on having them stop by in a secluded chamber.

With only a elf skeleton strewn over a stone table to assist, and a speck of satisfaction in his chest, Morr laid down his backpack while Gargant stood sentinel over the door.

And sneaked peeks at him.

"What?" Morr growled after the umpteenth thrown stare. He was still angry for his brother's attempt to deceive him.

"I-i am just wondering how are you still alive-breathing."

Morr's snapped to watch the black-fur, his teeth baring into a snarl.

"Are you-you insulting me?"

Gargant shook his head. He looked like he had recuperated his poise.

"You went alone into the ruins." He explained. "First the beard-things' and then this ones, yes?"

"What about it?"

"How are you-you still alive?" He ignored the hiss of warning from Morr. "You scuttled-ran headlong into dead-things. Two times. And you got buried under the earth-tomb. You should be dead-dead."

Morr grunted in annoyance. He really really didn't want to remember that episode.

"I-it happened." He just said, his voice breaking a bit at having bad memories return. Ack, curse him!

Gargant seemed bent on ignoring him.

"And you can't hear-listen to murmur-whispers." He continued, looking thoughtful.

Morr rolled his eyes. Again with that stuff? Well, he wasn't falling for it again. He stubbornly ignored his brother and his stupid questions, focusing his attention on the knot that closed his backpack. The elven book seemed to shine slightly even into the gloom of the chamber.

Morr laid it down, then opened it. Symbols and lines of text flore before his eyes as he flipped the pages. He found the right one with an "a-ah!", then stepped back.

"Right-right, so!" He began in earnest, rubbing his paws together. "This says-squeaks that mages-seers can see the magic in the world with their eyes-senses."

"Right." Gargant aknowledged from his postation at the door.

Morr ignored him with a flick of satisfaction.

"It says-squeaks" he continued "that the man-things calls this witchsight, while the elf-things calls it Rumprtompr."

Gargant frowned, folding his arms before his chest.

"That doesn't sound right."

Morr threw a glare his way.

"I-i am the one reading!" He protested.

"You sure you read-read the right page?"

"Yes, i am sure! Ack, you're making me lose-lose focus! And what are you even doing there?"

"I am listening to the whispers-murmurs."

Morr had to repress a motion of exasperation. He closed his ears with his paws.

"Blah blah blah, i can't hear you-you!" He chanted.

Gargant rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Satisfied for having the interruption ended, Morr returned to the matter at hand.

"So-so. It says-squeaks that to find-see if one has Rumprtrimpr." He glared at Gargant, then corrected himself. "Witchsight, you have to see-see if you can see-listen to strange things."

"Like what?"

Morr raised a finger in a cattedrathic pose, about to explain. Then stopped. He scratched his head. Blast, he couldn't remember. He picked up the book.

"Ehm, strange shapes." He read. "Images that nobody can see-smell, murmur-whispers, colors, strange smells and…" He squinted. "He-vee-nli lu-cu-bre-sion."

"What-what's that?" Gargant asked, frowning.

"Ehm, well, that's easy. It means, ehm…" Morr raked his brain in search for a convincing explaination. He really could use passing as a rat that knew his stuff right there. It could become useful on the long run. That he had got angry at his brother for trying something similar, it didn't even brush his mind.

"It-it means that…" He spelled. "If you eat something and it tastes funny, you could be a mage-seer." He ended triumphantly. That sounded just about right.

Gargant looked totally unconvinced.

"That sounds stupid." He commented laconically.

Morr flashed him an angry look, but didn't deign him of an answer. Curse him! He didn't deserve one!

Instead, he returned to focus on the book. He laid it down, then rubbed his paws together, eyes darting left and right.

"So, now…"

"Ehi, i hear whispers-murmurs. That makes me a wizard-seer?"

A vein popped on Morr's forehead, that tried his best to ignore the jeer of his obnoxious brother. Him, a seer, right. Morr was the seer, him and nobody else!

Excitament picking up, he left his senses extend into the chamber. It had been an eventful few days, to say the least, but, if something had kept on returning during them, it was the strange things that he had heard and seen. He remembered the whispers that had tormented him, the strange visions that had appeared before him, the alien sounds and shapes. Yes, they could have depended by the dead-things' influence, but…

No, he had to believe in his gift. Wasn't the book that he had received a well-enough proof? He was a mage. He had to be.

Eagerly, Morr focused his mind on his sorroundings. He felt Gargant's attention upon himself, but he made his best to ignore it, focusing instead on the chamber.

The elven book talked of quiet and calm as the best states of mind in which one could pick up the Winds. It said that it was better to push other thoughts out of one's mind, and of focusing on something that, following the rules of reality, showed a regular pattern or something similar. Like that, it was easier to pick up irregularities.

Trying his best to keep his anxiety at bay, Morr pushed his focus over the stone table at the center of the room. The elf skeleton was slumped over it, a thick layer of dust covering them both.

Despite its obvious age, the table still retained all the harmony of its construction. It probably was the most regular thing Morr had ever seen, and it would serve well.

Morr focused on its delicate lines and smooth surface. Ears perked up, he slowly scanned its frame with his eyes. He made a mental map of the thing, dividing it into a series of parts. Then, he focused his attention on a part at a time, searching for irregularities. He almost jumped out of his skin when he noticed a strange bump into its otherwise perfect form, but disappointment flooded in when he realized that it just was a clump of old cobwebs.

Shaking it away, he picked up his inspection with renewed vigor. He scanned the entirety of the object a first time, without finding anything unusual. He changed his mental map, making each space a smaller section, and began anew. He did it again when even the second scanning brought no result, moving to scan the thing centimeter after centimeter.

He leaned forward, almost ending on all fours while trying to get a better view. He squinted, then opened his eyes wide. He kept them like that for ten seconds, then twenty, ignoring the urge to blink and the feeling of burning.

He clenched his teeth, holding his breath.

He remained like that, tensed like an bowstring, until he had the sensation that his eyes were trying to pop out of his sockets and his vision swam. For a moment, he almost thought that he was actually seeing something, before realizing that it was all on him.

Then, when he couldn't hold it anymore, he let it out all with a gasp.

Nothing. He couldn't see nothing. He couldn't hear nothing.

Wheezing, he passed a paw over his snout, ruffling his whiskers. Disappointment boiled bitterly inside of him. No, no, he had to be a mage. He had to.

He realized only in that moment that Gargant had arrived at his side.

"Nothing?" The voice of the black-fur was little more than a murmur.

Morr wanted to be still angry with him, but the disappointment quelled him.

"I have heard them." He said bitterly, frustration rising inside of him. "The whispers-murmurs. The visions. It must mean that i am a mage. It must!"

Gargant didn't contest; he just nodded.

"Let's try somewhere else then."

Morr bit his lip, but nodded. Gargant turned to move, but he didn't follow him right away. First, he took a deep breath to steady himself. That was only the first attempt, only the first. There were still plenty of other tries to do. And he was a mage. He was!

Those thought comforted him, and he felt himself ready for more.

He turned to pick up his books, then rushed after his brother.

They wandered the silent halls of the elves for hours. Gargant led the way, moving as fast and secure as the first time Morr had seen him do it. Still, he changed direction almost randomly, making sudden corners or pushing Morr into chambers to wait for brief moments. More than once they ended up on bickering for this, Morr's squeaking voice echoing into the ruins while Gargant barely replied to him.

Morr wasn't stupid. He knew that to avoid bad turns of event once that his role in Gargant's errand was over, it would have been wise to avoid to bicker with him. And still, despite all the best intentions, he couldn't contain himself. He would'n have ever pushed or sassed another rat like he had done with Gargant, but with him… it was different. With him, he felt entitled to be obnoxious, to push and chitter, and he ended up on doing it before he could think otherwise. He himself wasn't sure why, and it was frustrating, finding himself being unable to keep his tongue at bay. It wasn't like himself, at all.

Still, he was unable to focus on that as much as he would have wanted, more pressing thoughts stealing his efforts.

They stopped more times than Morr wanted to count to try his witchsight. In chambers or corridors, even in great halls where he felt vulnerable to anything. And what they got was a big bunch of nothing. No matter how much he tried, Morr couldn't see, hear or smell nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that shouldn't have belonged to those blasted ruins.

And, each time that he found his hopes dashed, a growing sense of frustration planted his roots in Morr. Soon, frustration becam raging anxiety, and Morr's voice in their bickerings became louder and louder. But then, anxiety became gripping despair, and his squealing ended on being replaced by a shaky silence and a throbbing resignation.

Morr didn't even stop to watch his sorroundings as he entered into the umpteenth chamber of that horrible place, nor he watched if Gargant was following him. He just threw his back back on the floor, and planted his eyes on the first thing he saw, a old, stony thing that looked like some sort of furnace, but he didn't care enough to stop and try to understand its purpose.

Frantically, ignoring the headache that seemed about to split his head, he rummaged around the thing with his eyes, searching for something, anything that could be out of place. He didn't even know anymore what he was looking for, the words of the elven books, its tips and suggestions lost in the emotions that gripped him.

He pushed his focus against that blasted thing, almost feeling the hate and despair burning behind his eyes. He willed for something out of place to appear, then he ordered, then he begged.

And still, nothing.

The furnace was a furnace, and he was just a rat.

Morr remained there, even anger and hate failing him, leaving him only a knot in his throat and a feeling of emptiness on the bottom of his stomach.

He didn't give signs of aknowledging Gargant as the black-fur moved at his side.

The big brother put a paw on the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

"Well…" He began, but then he didn't say anything else. He had no idea of what to say.

Morr sobbed, trembling.

Gargant started a bit.

"Ehm, listen, bro… wait, " he blinked "are you-you crying?"

Morr turned away from him.

"I am n-not crying!" He stammered

"You-you're totally crying!"

"I-i am not! I-i…" His words trailed off into a broken sob. He swallowed, closing his eyes as tears ran down his cheeks.

Gargant looked ready to start fidgeting.

"H-hey, now! D-don't do this, don't…" The black-fur freezed as Morr turned around and buried his snout against his chest.

"I-i have nothing else, b-bro." He stammered. "T-they threw me o-out of the warren, yes-yes. I-if i don't do this, i-i don't have anything e-else. I-i am d-done."

He sobbed and hiccuped, trying and failing to stop the rush of emotions.

Without a clue of what to do, Gargant stood still, feeling his brother's tears wetting his fur.

For a couple of moments, the only things to pierce the silence were the smaller skaven's sobs and shaky breaths.

"E-ehm…" Gargant tried eventually. "Morr, brother-mate, listen…" He fidgeted a bit with his arms, not knowing what to do with them, before letting them fall down at his sides. "You-you aren't done, alright? I-It's just the first day, yes-yes. You got all those strange visions, yes-yes. They have to-to mean something, right? I-i mean, you got that book of yours, isn't? A-alright, you chickened out and still didn't read it, b-but…"

Gargant barely noticed the forewarning. A moment earlier, his brother was almost slumped against him, crying and bawling his eyes off, then, he felt him suddenly stiffened. Gargant managed barely to think that maybe, just maybe, that combination of words hadn't been the wisest he could choose, before his brother sprang up like a startled rat. Mouth wide-open, closed eyes and the wet trails of the tears still visible on his snout, the smaller skaven let out a violent chittering scream that made Gargant jump.

He stood there for a couple of moments, just screaming his lungs off, as his massive vocalization bounced up against the walls of chamber.

Then, his mouth clenched shut like a bear trap and he snapped to look at Gargant.

Even with the still wet trails on his snout, and the lines of snot falling down from his nose, there was such a fire in his eyes, that even the black-fur felt impressed, not like he needed much more nudging for that.

"I didn't chicken out!" Morr screeched, stabbing a warning finger against him. "It was just caution, you hear me? Caution!"

Dumbstruck, Gargant just nodded.

"Good! And you better remember it-it! Now let's go doing your stupid thing before i change my mind!"

And, without adding another word, Morr stormed off.

Gargant remained there, trying to understand what had just happened.

His eyes fell over the weapon that his brother had left strewn into the dust.

He frowned. So, all that had just happened had happened because…?

He scratched his ear, then, with a sigh, he picked up the staff.

Clutching it into his paws, he scuttled behind his brother, deciding that it was better to stop him from running into other dead-things than remaining there to think about strange things. Something told him that he wouldn't find an answer, anyway. Still, he wondered vaguely if his brother was crazy, and, if so, he would have to start to get used to having him crying his eyes off against him.

It was starting to become a habit.

Yeah, better play it safe.

"Hey, bro, are you crazy?"

"Piss off!"

Well, at least that was expected.


	11. Chapter 11

Morr was angry. No, more than angry, he was mad.

And it was all Gargant's fault. Somehow, it was, he was sure of it.

How many times now? How many times had he showed his brother the most pathetic spectacle in all the history of Skavendom? Three? Four times? Five? Ack, he couldn't even remember them all!

Of course, part of his anger was directed to himself, for allowing such a blatant weakness to show through. Third rule of the Skaven life: never, ever, show weaknesses. And, damn, he had made thorougly sure of breaking that.

And still, surely there had to be some contribution from the black-fur, something that he had overlooked to notice, something that Gargant had used and that had pushed him to make such a fool in front of him, not once, not twice, but three times.

Yes, it had to be like that. There wasn't any other explaination.

And, if there was something that Morr could not abide was being manipulated; and he made sure of making Gargant know that, by ding of hard stares and chittering hisses.

Still, to his irritation, after the complete surprise of their first squabble, the black-fur had returned to his impassive self, not allowing himself to be baited in more bickering, barely replying to his stabs and then only with grunts.

Being things like that, after a while Morr stopped trying to provoke him and, spurred by the heavy atmosphere of the ruins, retreated to his own thoughts. They weren't good, not at all, the grim perspective of another failure, one from which he wasn't sure he could get back on, oppressing him.

So, it was almost a relief when Gargant decided to break the silence.

"Pay attention." The black-fur mumbled.

Morr blinked, so deep in thought that he needed a moment to register the words. He clutched his jaw when he did.

"Mind you-your business." He snarled, angry for being scolded like a ratling and angry because his brother was right. His mind had completely slipped away from the path.

Irritation boiling in his chest, he noticed that they were arrived in a new place, without him having memory of actually entering it. Nor he remembered of him stopping behind Gargant.

Indisposed to dwell on it, he started scanning his sorroundings.

They were in an large octagonal room, the strange smoothness of the walls immediately attracting Morr's attention. Not like he was an expert mason, but he had seen his share of elven places, and that looked a little too perfect even for their standards, like the rock had been molded more than actually chiseled.

That thought sent a ripple of unease through him, but he forced himself to ignore it.

Banners, moldering and rotten, hung from six of the walls, above them as many stone sculpture depicting spread wings. Whatever motifs or picture they exhibited in the past were now only smudges of grey and splotches of mould. Still, no creepy frescoes, and that was a welcome change for Morr.

Despite everything that plagued him, or maybe, just because of that, Morr felt attracted to the place, his curiosity picking up.

"I-i don't get how this place works." He said, advancing toward one of the banner.

By experience, he knew by now that it wasn't wise to touch it, so he limited himself to just inspectioning it. Whatever pompous image was painted on it, had been erased by the costant action of time. He found himself smiling at the thought.

"Look." He said, gesturing widely. He liked to talk. It helped him distract himself from less savory thoughts and silences. "The banner-cloth should be dust, yes-yes. I have seen-sniffed pieces of wood that were only garbage-dust. And instead, it's still in one piece, even if all broken-rotten. And even the walls, yes-yes!" He gestured with both paws, tilting his head to see better. "Look how all smooth-smooth they are! Unnatural! And why not even a bit of mould on them, mh? There's here, on the banner-cloth, and it's not like in the dwarfs-things' place, that it's all dry, yes-yes. Here it's a bit humid. There should be splotches, yes-yes."

He pinched his chin with two fingers, thinking about it. The humidity could be explained with the depth, maybe even with the presence of some underground river, but why it hadn't affected the place? Or, at least, why it had affected only certain things?

"Even other places are strange, yes-yes." He continued, starting to pace. "Cobwebs, dust, yes-yes, but not everywhere, no. Only in certain places." He remembered the wreckages of rotten wood and dust, with the skeletons inside. It was all so strange.

Those questions sparked a bit of excitation in him.

He turned to Gargant, almost expecting to see him as eager to know as him.

The black-fur was busy picking the fur inside of one of his ear.

"Dead-things' place." He just grumbled, shrugging. He took out a finger from his ear and blowed on it. "Strange things happen here."

Morr's ear flopped down, and he could almost hear the spark going out with a depressing fizzle.

"Yeah, but why? And how?"

Gargant shrugged.

"Meh."

If someone would ever ask him to make a rank of all the replies that sounded the most disinterested and the most depressing, Morr would defintely put that "meh" at the first place.

Grumbling against the lazy and the ignorants, he stomped to his brother.

No use in getting angry. If one was a dumb brute without curiosity, one was a dumb brute without curiosity.

"Where is-is this weapon of yours, then?" He asked, eager to return to business.

Gargant jerked with his head toward the center of the room.

"Here. Look-look."

Morr obeyed, and, for the second time from when he had laid foot in that place, felt his sense of wonder being aroused.

At the center of the chamber, the stone floor gave way to a sheet of trasparent glass. Beneath it, at the bottom of a pit, a magnificent-looking sword laid on a stone altar.

Morr felt question after question flood his brain as he watched that strange disposition, but he quickly resigned himself to never obtain answers. With Gargant in tow…

"Can't you just break-smash the glass?" He asked instead. If he had made come all the way there for nothing…

Laying down his bulky backpack, Gargant stepped toward the glass. He knelt before it, and knocked on it.

"It doesn't break." He explained. "Already tried, yes-yes."

Frowning, Morr passed resolutely by him. A sense of power swelled in his chest as he clutched his mace. He swung it high, bringing it down with an aggressive squeal. As the heavy knotted head impacted against the glass, a wave of vibration rose through his arm and then his shoulder. Morr chattered, eyes widening, as his blow bounced right back, his arm swinging in the opposite way. He lost the grip, and the mace flew away, clattering to the floor to ten paces of distance.

Morr drew back, blinking. The glass surface had not even been scratched.

"It's… it's hard." He just said with surprise, rubbing his wrist. He regretted having said such a dumb thing the moment it left his mouth. And, sure enough, he found Gargant staring at him with a small grin.

Morr felt blood ran to his cheeks.

"It… it must be magic-witchcrat, yes-yes!" He exclaimed, turning abruptly his back to his brother.

Wondering why the hell nothing seemed to go his way, he stomped to the fallen weapon and picked it up.

"Nice blow, though."

Morr stiffened slightly. That didn't sound like a jeer.

"Yeah, right."

Trying to hide his sudden confusion, he turned around.

"So, how do we-we get that?" He asked, and felt happy at how his voice sounded firm and autoritharian.

Gargant rose to his feet.

"Here." He said, walking toward the back of the chamber.

Morr gingerly followed him.

The black-fur led him to a hole carved into the stone floor, the tell-tale sign of Skaven claw making its origin clear. It didn't escape Morr's attention that it was too big for Gargant to scuttle through, but just the right size for him.

He felt his guts twist slightly.

"You scuttle inside of here-here." Gargant said, to his chagrin. "And then, you-you get out in the hole there. You grab the weapon-stabber and bring it-it to me."

Morr clenched his teeth.

"Who says-squeaks that this finish in there?"

Gargant casually waved for him to check.

He did, and, yep, there was a hole with the same marks in one of the walls of the pit. It had to be the exit of the tunnel, no mistake about it.

"If there's a tunnel-scuttle already done." He began, eyes glued to the hole. "Why nobody took it-it already?"

Impassive, Gargant pointed toward the sword, toward the iron clamps that kept it anchored to the altar.

"I-i think that whoever dug the tunnel didn't manage to-to break those, yes-yes."

Morr was frustrated by the certainty of his tone.

"There could be-be a trap." He replied.

Gargant was already on the job. Dragging his big backpack toward the center of the chamber, and already rummaging in it, he handed his spear-stick to his brother. As Morr hold it, without understanding, Gargant took out a strange metal cap ending into a hook. He slided it over the point of the stick, transforming the crude spear into a crude long hook.

"You use this, yes-yes. " He explained. "Jab it into the sword-stabber, and so we're sure if there's a trap-trap."

Morr watched his brother, then the hook in his paws, then his brother again.

"And… and… and if there's magic?" He protested. Surely, he couldn't go if there was the possibility for things to blow up into his face, right?

Gargant folded his arms before his chest, looking stern.

"Then you get another chance-shot at seeing it, yes-yes. And then, there isn't."

"How… how do you know that?"

"I just know."

Morr had to repress the instict to roll his eyes. Right, he just knew. Just as he heard voices and knew that he didn't read books or whatever.

And still, Gargant seemed to radiate certainty, and he felt himself not in the position of propose more protests. In a strange way, he almost felt a bit of that certainty seep into him.

He turned to watch the entrance of the hole, looking like a big mouth just waiting for him. He swallowed. He didn't want to do it. Since they had started their little expedition, he hadn't thought about that moment, if not in brief flashes that other, more pressing thoughts had quickly overhelmed. Now that it was time for it, he just didn't want to do it.

It was more than the simple fear of possible traps. After doing that thing, Gargant wouldn't have any need to continue to stick with him, nor to show him any regard. And after all those squabbles…

And… he didn't want to remain alone. He didn't want for his brother to leave.

His whiskers twitching with anxiety, he raked his brain, searching for any other possible protest toward the plan. He found nothing.

For a moment, he just thought about refusing to do it. It was an elf-things' place, after all. Who said that there wasn't a fireball ready to explode in his face the moment he touched that sword? Hook or not, what could save him from that?

He swallowed again, feeling his throat dry. Gargant was staring at him intently, and, under those impassive eyes, he felt like a trapped rat. He could immagine how he would react to a refuse, after hours of him dragging around in a search for ghosts, but he strongly decided against it. His rebelling plan melted to nothing. There wasn't chance for escape now.

Something in his expression had to give away his decision, because Gargant nodded, and handed him a rusty crowbar, that Morr took automatically.

"Use this to break out the sword-weapon." The black-fur just said.

Regretting a great deal of the decisions that brought him in that situation, Morr just nodded, not thrusting his voice enough to talk.

The hole at least was promising: small, but not enough for him to have to squeeze through nor large enough for having someone else bigger being able to follow him. Just the right kind that he would choose to retire to in case of being chased.

The last vision that Morr had of his brother before going down was of him standing guard at the center of the room. Stern looking, arms folded before his chest, he looked all the parts the stormvermin guardrat. It would have been almost reassuring having him on the look-out, wasn't for the thought of after the retrieval.

Morr tried to not think about it.

Strangely enough, hard packed soil continued right beyond the stone floor, the tell-tale signs of teeth and claws marking the origin of the tunnel. Morr wondered how much time and effort had been necessary to dig so much. Being the situation different, he would have even smiled a little before that umpteenth example of his fair race's abilities. Instead, anxious despite the comfortable cramped environment, he peered forward. Well, at least he could see light coming from the end. That meant that tunnel actually brought somewhere.

He started shuffling forward, grimacing a little each time he felt the uneven surfaces of the walls dragged against his skin.

After a while, he slowed down, frowning.

There was something blocking the tunnel.

Curious, he shuffled forward with caution, nose taking in the air. The smell remembered him of something, but he wasn't sure of what.

The object was half-buried by a little cave-in, dust and dirt covering it.

Morr pushed a paw against it, trying to dislodge it. The thing resisted for a moment, before giving way with a soft crack, slumping to a side.

Morr started, and it was only for a deep-engrained instinct from subterrean life that he didn't smack his head against the tunnel ceiling.

Bones!

Dusty, dirty bones jutted out of the earth, forming the unmistakeable shape of a skaven skeleton.

Morr exhaled slowly, feeling his heart thumping. Well, it looked like he had found the owner of the tunnel.

"All ok-ok?" Called Gargant's voice from outside.

Morr flinched a bit, the questions swarming his mind forcefully interrupted. Right, no time to linger now.

"Y-yes!" He replied back, coughing when a handful dust ended in his mouth.

A muffled grunt was the only answer.

Morr puffed, watching the skeleton. Right. He could do this.

With a bit of hesitation, he extended his paws forward. Carefully, he grabbed the skeleton and raised it up, pushing its back against the wall. He shivered when the thing's empty eyes set on him.

Well, here's a story he would have liked to know. A skaven, as big as him judging from the bones, here in the ruins, wherever the hell they were, dead in a tunnel toward a sword that he had probably buried himself. Who know what could have ever happened? The words "digging his own grave" took a new special meaning in there.

Morr pursued his lips. A grave, yes.

Pushing back dark thoughts, he pushed the skeleton against the wall, opening the path enough for him to being able to pass by squeezing through.

He passed a paw on his forehead, finding it drenched with sweat.

"Taking your time in-in there?" Called Gargant from outside.

"S-shut up! I am doing my best-best!" Morr barked back.

No answer this time.

Morr returned to focus on the task ahead.

"Right…"

Putting a paw against the wall, he started to push himself into the hole. He flinched, a small yip escaping his mouth, when he felt the skeleton's ribs against his side. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself calm as waves of shivers ran through his side and back.

The hole was smaller that it looked, and he had to squeeze to pass. As he tried, a bone scratched him. He yelped, and stopped.

"What now-now?"

Morr almost started. The last thing that he wanted now was to have his brother making fun of him.

"A-all ok!" He stammered.

Again, no answer. It was almost a relief, though.

Gritting his teeth, Morr pushed himself forward, trying to ignore where the skeleton touched him.

He had almost managed to pass through, when a flurry of steps thundered above him.

A yell, then an enraged roar.

Caught by surprise, Morr yelled and jerked forward in a effort to free himself. The paw with which he was sustaining himself slipped, and he fell forward. Trying to get a grip on something, he flailed around, and his paw grabbed hold of the skeleton's ribs, that slumped forward and upon him.

Terror engulfed him as two bony arms fell upon him. He trashed and squeaked, the violent sounds coming from above doing nothing but fueling his panic. He writhed frantically, trying to free himself, but the skeleton arms seemed to wrap around him tighter with every movement.

In the throes of panic, he turned, and found himself staring straight into the skeleton's dead eyes, felt a whiff of dust whispering against his snout, like that dead skaven was breathing at him from beyond the grave.

It was too much.

As he still struggled, as he felt his heart was about to burst, darkness rushed his vision. His eyes fell back, and he passed out.

Morr wandered in darkness, as adrift and lightweighted as a leaf blown by a stormy wind.

Whispers and voices crowded his hearing, some pushed and soft, some angered and loud. He vaguely thought that some of them weres almost familiar, but he wasn't sure why. A name hovered in his mind, just beyond his conscience's reach. As he tried to get a hold of it, it was almost as a voice whispered it to him.

Kabrik.

For some reason, panic blossomed in his chest at hearing it.

Revolving around that name like fireflies around a fire, the voices continued, whispering with hushed tones things that he couldn't understand nor decipher. And still, he didn't want to understand. Dread gripped him at the idea of understanding.

A voice raised above the other, repeating itself, again and again. It felt like someone was screaming at him from beyond the horizon, but, as he listened, it became louder and louder, clearer and clearer, but he didn't want to understand, he didn't want, he didn't…

"Brother!"

Morr recovered his senses with a gasp. He yelped. The skeleton had slumped by a side, but its bony arms was still laid on him.

Thrashing wildly, ignoring the dirt on his snout and mouth, he freed himself and shuffled forward.

He remained there, wild-eyes, gasping and wheezing, his thoughts in turmoil.

"Brother!"

He started, recognizing his brother's voice.

"I-i am here!" He rasped, then coughed dirt.

There was a moment of silence, before Gargant replied.

"Come out! Move!"

Gargant could at least inform how we was, but Morr wasn't really in the mood to argue, so he shuffled forward as fast as he could, trying to keep fear at bay.

Thankfully for him, the tunnel ended soon. Morr more stumbled out than actually jumping, and leaned against the wall, gasping fro breath. He would have never immaginer that the day would arrive when he would be happy to be out of a safe, comfortable tunnel. Then again, in the tunnels that he liked to call home, there wasn't a skeleton.

Gargant kneeled outside, looking at him through the glass that covered the pit. Morr started at seeing the slashes criss-crossing his chest.

"Why did you come-scuttled out of this end?" The black-fur asked sternly, his voice coming muffled. He waved sharply for him to return in the tunnel. "Get back inside! Get back here-here!"

Morr hesitated. He would have liked nothing more than to do what he said, but the thought of having to pass again near the skeleton freezed him in place.

He was watching his brother, mind running, when he noticed something. On the glass, hidden from outside under a thick golden lining, there was a lever. With a secret hope, he raised a paw, trying to reach it.

"What-what are you doing? Get…" Gargant's barking was interrupted when Morr pulled the lever. With a soft thud, the glass covering unlocked from its position.

The duo exchanged a glance, then the black-fur, inserted his fingers in the fissure that had opened between glass and floor, and pulled. The covering gave way with a loud screaking that spoke volumes about how old that contraption was.

Morr grabbed his brother's extended paw with something akin to exultation. Never climbing out of a hole had seemed so good to him. He had to actually repress the instinct to jump down to kiss the stone floor.

No skeleton there, thanks goodness.

"What-what happened?" Gargant asked, impassive.

Morr was about to answer, but hesitated. He didn't want to tell his brother that he had fainted under a pile of bones. Now that he was out of the tunnel, the thing was starting to take a humiliating shade.

"N-never mind that-that." He excused himself. As he tried to avoid his brother's gaze, his attention fell again on the scratches that he had on his chest.

"W-what happened?" He asked. Just then, he noticed that there was a metallic pang in the air, the same that came when blood was spilled.

Fur already raising, he turned around, and started with a squeak.

Three skaven, two in filthy rags and the third wearing armor, were strewn against the wall, their heads laying down.

Dumbstruck, Morr turned to his brother, a question on his snout.

"They attacked-scuttled on me when you were down there." The black-fur said, wiping his mouth with the back of a wrist. Morr noticed with a shiver that his frontal teeth were stained with blood.

"Did you hear-hear them?"

Remembering the sounds that had surprised him, Morr nodded.

"But… but why?"

Gargant spat. "Dunno."

Morr felt a spike of irritation at his careless attitude, but he repressed it. No time for bickering now. He had to understand what was happening here.

He marched to the bodies, and knelt before them.

A lot about a skaven, about his identity was in his smell, and so he smelled them thoroughly. Even if they were corpses, they had died from too little time to have lost their signature smell.

Except, and he realized that with dismay, they weren't dead. All of them, were only stunned, sent to the realm of dreams with a well-placed blow to the head.

Eyes-wided, he watched Gargant.

The black-fur just shrugged, and turned his attention at stretching his shoulder.

Morr sneered, but he knew that arguing would have brought nothing. He noticed only in that moment how Gargant raised his chest a bit too much to take air. That realization sparked something unpleasant in him, but that wasn't time for dwelling, and so he returned to examine the skaven.

Two of them, as he had already seen, were dressed in the rags of the dreg class, their furs crisscrossed with the tell-tale signs of whips, blows and sickness. The third was only a little better put that them, his emaciated frame partially protected by a ramshackle armor.

Three slaves, Morr concluded. Two dregs and their pawleader. What were doing there, though?

Their smells said nothing to him about their identities. He needed some more clues.

Rustling through their gears, especially the pawleader's, with a lot of caution, because he couldn't know when these three would spring again to life, thanks to that blockhead of his brother, he found something that almost made him jump.

"This-this sigil!" He squeaked, raising from his knees.

Frowning, Gargant came close to him, and Morr showed him the piece of cloth that he had fished from the pawleader's pockets.

It was a tattered thing, covered with splotches of dirt and blood. Still, the clawmark roughly painted on it was clearly visible: a triangular shape, put above another triangular design, only this one inverted.

Morr felt his blood going cold at seeing it.

"This…" He stammered. "This is the claw-mark of Kabrik."

Gargant's frown deepened.

"Like that one that have it against you-you?"

Morr nodded, too scared to get angry at his brother's careless reaction. Because that was a serious matter, deadly matter.

"If… if his slaves are here-here, it means that he isn't very far-away, yes-yes. We must go!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Morr could feel panic mounting. "He- he already did this! He sent slaves to catch-grab the one that try to escape and then he comes to kill-kill!"

Gargant seemed surprised at his reaction, but Morr didn't care. They had to go, now!"

"Where are-are their weapons?" He asked hurriedly. "W-we can…" He was interrupted when Gargant showed before his face him a thin, long knife.

"This one had it the leader-chief." The blackfur explained. "The two ragged ones-rats had nothing."

And that explained the scratches on his chest. Morr's eyes flicked at them. There was blood seeping in Gargant's fur, but he didn't seem bothered by it.

For a moment, Morr was tempted to ask if it hurt, but then he decided not. No time for pleasantries!

He snatched the knife, briefly appraised it, then pushed it into his belt.

He inquired at Gargant with a glance. There was other weapons?

The black-fur just gestured toward the little ramshackle shield that now ung from his backpack.

Morr nodded. It was better for Gargant to have a shield. It just cemented his role as a front-line fighter.

Mind running in search of other solutions, he found one with a start.

"The sword-stabber!" He exclaimed. "That have to be good-strong, right? Let's get it-it!"

He was surprised to see Gargant react with a little grimace.

"What?" Morr asked.

Gargant shook his head, then turned and marched toward the pit.

They had to retrieve the crowbar from the tunnel, not him, to Morr's relief, before putting themselves to work to free the sword. To Morr's pleasant surprise, the clamps holding the object n place gave way after just a bit of struggle. To his less than happy surprise, the fancy-looking sword came out curved from the exertion.

"A replica-fake." Gargant just said, waving the thing around. To further explaination, he smacked the thing on his knee, breaking it in two.

Morr had to call for all of his restrains to not start screaming like a maniac here and there, especially as he remembered that pleasant encounter with a skeleton. Thankfully for Gargant, they didn't have time for that now. Oh, but he would have remembered, oh, if he would!

They scurried away as fast as their skaveny legs could bear them, leaving the downed skaven and the chamber to the silece that had engulfed for millennia.


	12. Chapter 12

They had barely took a couple of turns that the coming sounds of scampering, chittering and voices made them dive inside a side room.

A group of five skaven, as disheveled and ill-equipped as the trio of earlier, passed down the corridor, laughing and waving aggressively chipped, rusted weapons as they went, before disappearing behind another corner.

Morr and Gargant waited for their sounds to blur in the distance before coming out.

"They are going toward the den-hiding spot." Gargant noted.

Morr wanted to tell him to shut up, that he didn't need him to notice something so stupid, but he was already pressed enough to push back his growing panic. The musk of war left by the group of skaven hung in the air like a sword-blow ready to fall.

"They know that we are here-here!"He squeaked. "T-they will-will catch us-us!"

He started when Gargant turned to him. There was a steel-like hardness in the black-fur's eyes. Realizing what it meant, he felt his musk glands clench.

"I-it wasn't me-me!" He squeaked. "I-i didn't tell-squeak to anybody of you-you! They will kill-slay me too if they catch me!"

His frantic explaination seemed to be enough for Gargant, that grunted in aknowledgement. His gaze didn't soften up, though. Morr remembered with terror that, now that the sword was out of the picture, the black-fur didn't need him anymore.

"Let's go-go."

Morr didn't object, almost fearing that he could remember that fact to Gargant just by uttering words.

As the black-fur rushed down the opposite corridor to the one that the group had taken, he followed him. He didn't ask where his brother was going, fear keeping his tongue at bay.

He pushed his legs as fast as he could, barely managing to keep up with Gargant, while trying to make as little noise as possibile. Tension gripped him, and his eyes darted around without rest. He expected to see a band of skaven armed to the teeth jumping out of a corner any second.

But nothing appeared to block their path, and, eventually, they stopped at a junction of two corridors.

Morr leaned against a wall, gasping for breath. Curse those books! They were heavy!

"They are here-here too." Gargant said, peeking beyond the corner.

Morr propped himself against the wall.

"H-here? Here where?"

Gargant didn't turn to him.

"This path-way leads to the parts of the ruins that the rats-skaven have already explored-sniffed." He took a couple of short sniffs. "I feel musk of war coming from it-it."

And that meant that road was with all probability blocked by the henchrats of Kabrik.

Morr swallowed.

"There are-are other routes out of the ruins." He said tentatively. "We-we can try those."

He avoided to add that he thought very likely that even those other paths were blocked. Especially because he didn't want to believe it.

Gargant turned to him, and Morr had to repress the instinct to flinch away. There was a intense aura around his brother, the kind that sorrounds the silent hunter on the prowl. His smell of strenght was pushed beyond the usual, and a hard light still glinted in his eyes.

Morr felt him distant, intimidating, scary.

"W-we can try those, yes?" He said, trying to mask his unease.

Gargant glanced at him for a moment, before nodding slowly.

Without a word, the black-fur turned and marched off, the rapid scampering abandoned for a more prudent stalking.

Morr allowed himself a brief sigh of relief, but inside of his stomach there was a pit. That tension between them. He knew it. He had felt it already. It was the kind during which alliances could snap and "friends" turn into enemies. His brother was a tough nut to read, but that atmosphere couldn't escape his well-honed senses. And, right now, they were telling him that he and Gargant could end on different sides very, very soon.

It was expected, of course. From the beginning, he had known that it would eventually then, why he felt that void at the bottom of the stomach?

He told himself that it was for the fear of remaining alone and short of the defence of a mighty black-fur.

Well, it only meant that he had to find a moment and a way in which leaving Gargant aside would bring him some benefits.

Strangely, that thought didn't comfort him.

He shook those doubts away with a snarl. Now wasn't the moment for thinking that. Now he had to find a way to escape whatever Kabrik was planning. Yes, escape, and survive. Survive at any cost. Even if the cost was his brother's life. Survive. Survive. Survive.

He repeated that mantra in his head, until a parvence of calm was back in his mind. Feeling a little better, he moved to reach his brother, his thoughts already running to try and predict other possible outcomes.

* * *

The pawleader jolted with a screech when a foot was planted in his side.

He raised his head and freezed, his survival instincts overriding even the surprise of being awoken so brutally.

"C-chieftain!" He squeaked.

Chieftain Kabrik, covered in black armor from head to toe, showing scar where there wasn't metal, smirked and nodded.

Ignoring the pain in his side, the pawleader scrambled to his feet, almost smacking his face on the floor in his hurry of getting to a kneeling position. He studiously ignored the squeaks of fear that his two subordinates let out when the two stormvemin that had kicked him awake pulled them up.

"So?"

Chieftain Kabrik's voice was a deep rumble, with a low, throaty growl underlining even the smallest word. The pawleader had to repress the instinct to cringe.

"T-there was-was another one-skaven, oh majestic warrior-lord!" He squeaked. "A-a black-fur, yes-yes! Me and my slaves-meat assaulted him, but he was strong-mighty! He defeated us-us!"

The pawleader had learned by long that he wasn't very good as a liar, and that sometimes the best way was to just say the actual truth and to hope for the best. Not that he could come up with something better, with all that alarmed panic muddying his thoughts.

And then, there were skaven you just didn't lie to, and Kabrik was one of them.

Making an actual effort to look as cowed as possible, he gingerly peeked at his expression.

The chieftain didn't seem disappointed, just slightly impressed.

"Did you injure him?" He asked.

The pawleader felt the knot in his guts tighten.

"I-i don't know, lord-master. It-it happened all too-too quickly! But… but…" He squeezed his brain as much as he could. "Maybe, yes-yes! I have scratched him, on the chest, yes-yes! Enough to draw blood-life!"

It was a little lie, he wasn't sure if he had been the one to do the wounding, but even that was enough to have him wish he hadn't said it.

Kabrik made that effect.

The chieftain watched him thoughtfully for a moment, before slowly nodding.

Without another word, he turned his attention to the stormvermin at his side.

That meant that the exchange was over and, following every logic and caution, the pawleader should have been more than happy of having it finishing like that, considering how their scouting mission had been a failure. Still, hope and desperation made for harsh mistresses, and the skaven didn't manage to keep his tongue at bay.

"E-ehm, mighty-great lord?"

He winced slightly when the chieftain turned again to him. There was coldness in his eyes now.

A voice in the pawleader's mind screamed for him to just shut up, but he just couldn't listen.

"Y-you said-squeaked that… that…" His eyes darted between the other two slaves, like from them could arrive some form of help. They too looked ready to jump on him to shut his stupid mouth, the stormvemin at their side the only things keeping them from doing so, but it was too late now. The words wouldn't just stop. "That… if we-we managed to get-catch the ratling, we-we would get a good weapon and a reward-meat, b-but…" He winced slightly. There wasn't turning back now. "Y-you said-squeaked that even if we fail-fail, we would still be made into clanrats-freerats. Y-you said-squeaked it."

There. Now he had gone and done it. He had called a superior about previous words and promises. It wasn't just idiocy, it was full-fledged suicide, as any Skaven worth his tail knew full well.

But still, but still… !

Barely managing to not shudder, the pawleader dared a peek to Kabrik's face.

The chieftain's expression was a strange mix of amusement and thougtfulness.

The pawleader dared to look upon it only for a moment, then, his wandering eyes were attracted by the paw of the stormvermin next to the chieftain. It caressed the blade of the black-fur's halberd. Slowly, it went, back and forth, and back and forth. Black fur upon silvery metal. Back and forth. Mesmerizing. The pawleader wondered vaguely if that was what death felt like. An eternal motion of silence. A little rat lost down in the waves, no sound to pierce the surface.

Then, the chieftain growled a command, and the spell was broken.

The pawleader watched dumbly as the collar fastened around his neck was unlocked and fell on the floor with a clink.

Dumbstruck, he looked at the fallen thing, vaguely remembering how painfully had chafed him, leaving red marks and blisters upon his flesh.

He turned to the chieftain.

Kabrik was grinning.

Then, as another stormvermin moved to open the other two slaves' collar, he gave him his back and marched away.

"Weak-weak soldiers." The stormvermin at the chieftain's side, his name was Crenk, grumbled as he and Kabrik made their way toward the center of the chamber. "They will die-die."

The chieftain chittered a little laugh.

"But good-loyal, yes-yes. They will remember Kabrik, who freed them." He glanced at Crenk, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "And then, do not-not understimate a fighting rat; a set of claws is enough to rip-rip a king's throat."

Crenk snorted his little belief in that, but said nothing. He knew that the chieftain was like that, with his strange ideas and whatnot.

"Why didn't he kill-slay them?" He asked, changing topic and getting back to business. He wasn't a rat that liked to get lost in chatter. "The mark of a weakling, yes-yes."

Kabrik nodded.

"Is-is that so. But it helps us-us." He narrowed his eyes. "Now we know that the ratling isn't alone."

Crenk grunted in confirmation.

"Horned Rat smite me if i get-get why a black-fur would stick with a weak-little rat like that one."

"It-it doesn't really matter." Kabrik shrugged. "We'll get-catch them both," then, turning to the group of skaven that waited at a respectful distance, he barked: "Release the dogs, yes-yes. It's time for them to feast-hunt!"

A chorus of chittering cheers was his answer as the packmaster in his retinue hurried to obey.

Kabrik grinned, another mask to hide the towering, absolute fury that boiled inside of him. He had told the truth to Crenk. He wasn't sure why a black-fur would help that ratling to escape, even less why he would stick with him while being chased. A possible explaination had sprung in his mind, and he had considered it, but in the end he had discarded it. It was too random, too much of a coincidence for it to be actually true.

And in the end, it really didn't matter.

He would have his prize. All of them.

Kabrik looked at the broken sword at his feet. A replica, well-done, but a replica nonetheless. It was worth nothing.

That sight stoked the fire of hate and anger that already burned deep inside of him.

His grin took a bloodthirsty edge as he raised his armored foot. The cheap weapon exploded into glittering fragments when he brought it down on its smooth surface.

Kabrik relished the destruction, imagining how he would have made that miserable ratling meet the same end.

From behind, he could hear the cheers of the freed slaves, praising his name.

Good children.

"Naughty children get the leash."

* * *

"I hate this place, i hate this place, i hate this place."

Morr had repeated that mantra again and again, as he had continued to scuttle behind Gargant doing his best as to not remain behind. The corridors of that blasted place seemed to repeat themselves again and again before his eyes, smooth curves and richly painted faces seeming to blend itself one in the other; and by now he had the terrible sensation that he wouldn't never manage to see something different.

Maybe he was already dead, ran down by a band of Kabrik's goons, and now his spirit was damned to roam that horrible place forever, together with the other dead-things that already infested it, while his body, unbeknownst to him, had remained behind, strewn in a corner in waiting to become dust and bones as all the other elf-things'.

He shuddered, and pushed back those thought with desperation. He hadn't to think things like those. It would just invite death.

"I-i need to rest…!" He wheezed, before coming to a shuddering stop.

He leaned against the wall of the umpteenth corridor, trembling.

Fear, tension and now the fatigue of continuously running had taken his toll on him. He heaved, gasping for air, his back aching under the weight of the two big books.

Gargant made another couple of long steps before coming to a stop on his own.

Morr winced slightly when the black-fur turned to him. That hardness in his eyes was more alive than ever.

"J-just a moment…" Using his tiredness as an excuse, Morr lowered his head to avoid that steel gaze.

It was coming. He could feel it. The moment of betrayal. It was close, very close. Just hanging there in the air, a swipe away.

He had to repress the instinct to flinch away when Gargant marched toward him.

"We can't stop-stop here, yes-yes. We are too much exposed."

He had nothing to reply to that, nor he had the spare breath to try anyway, so, grimacing as his poor muscles protested, he propped himself away from the wall.

Thankfully, they found a side chamber just a little ahead.

Morr didn't even look at what there was inside, throwing himself to sit on the floor, back against the wall, breathing heavily.

Still, through half-lidded eyes, he kept watching Gargant.

The black-fur looked a lot better than him, his breath coming just barely faster than normal as he stood sentinel by the door. He looked nervous, though, his whiskers twitching slightly while his tail flickered behind him.

Morr gritted his teeth. It was coming. He could feel it.

As they ran, Gargant had brought him, under his own insistence, up to speed on their rough position in the ruins. A bit had passed from his time as a scavenger, but Morr still remembered a lot about that place, helped by the numerous signals and landmarks that the various generations of skaven busy with pilfering elven riches had left during the years. He had managed to make himself a mental map, and at least to understand what was the rough direction to take. It had been nice to find some measure of control in all that craziness.

After that, though, all bad news.

They had moved as fast and stelthy as they could through the ruins, making direction for all the exits that brought back to Snoutdeep, and not even one, not even one!, they had found open. They were all blocked by armed groups of skaven bearing the colors of Kabrik, slaves, clanrats and even stormvermin. Thrice, trying to get a visual in addition to just smelling the musk of war, they had even risked being spotted.

Morr barely managed to repress a whimper of frustration. He had hoped to being able to do a clean and fast exit, maybe to bring Gargant to his hiding spot, but this… this! This was impossible! It was more having to do with a little army than with a hunting party!

And Gargant, Gargant!

Morr had thought about it, raked and squeezed his brain in search of a solution, but he had found none. There wasn't nothing, nothing!, now that tied the black-fur to him. It was like suddenly finding himself falling into a crevasse, feet scrabbling for a bit of earth without finding anything. In fact, he couldn't just understand why he still sticked with him, and not knowing only added to his frustration. Gargant would have been a lot better by himself, since it was clear that Kabrik wanted just him. Maybe it was just survival instinct that told him that the situation was dangerous even for him, and that it was best to remain together? Maybe he was waiting for the right moment to consign him to Kabrik?

By that point, Morr had no more ideas.

The only thing that he knew was that it was coming. And he couldn't do nothing to stop it. He was on his own now.

Feeling the gnawing of hunger, he automatically reached for his backpack, before remembering that he had eaten all his supplies already. With a snort of frustration, he ripped from his side the pouch of water and began to drink. At least he had made sure of resupplying himself with that at Gargant's den. Asking for food was a sign of weakness, and he had preferred to avoid it. Right now, instead, he regretted it, together with a lot of other things.

He left the pouch fall with a gasp.

"They are many." Gargant commented suddenly by his spot aside the door. It wasn't a question.

"Too many." Morr replied, studiously avoiding to look at him. He wasn't sure if hearing him so calm was frustrating, scary or comforting.

"Is all of this for you-you?"

"I don't know!" Morr blurted out. "It's… it's ridicolous!" Jumping at his feet, he made a show of starting to pace. Gargant's presence burned against his senses. "I knew-knew that Kabrik would have wanted to kill-kill me, but this? He has called an entire army-battalion! It doesn't make-make any sense!"

The only answer from Gargant was a grunt.

Morr hesitated for a moment. He wasn't sure why, but his instinct told him that Gargant didn't believe him. At least not completely.

"T-they will kill us-us if they catch us-us." He continued, making it seem like he hadn't noticed. "They will-will think that i didn't want to work-labor for Kabrik because i was already working for someone else-else."

And that someone else was Gargant, since no black-fur could be passed to be the subordinate of a hornless brown-fur like him. He avoided to explain further that point, that by now, him and Gargant were sticked together and the fall of one meant the fall of the other, but he hoped that his brother was quick enough to get it.

And dumb enough to believe it.

Morr leaned with a paw against a wall, waiting for a reply.

None come.

He swallowed.

"What-what other ways are left?" He asked, trying to change topic.

Gargant was still by the door when he turned, busy with rubbing his chest. His talons were smeared with a strange, brown-colored substance. Some kind of poultice, Morr guessed. He had already seen him rub it over his wounds. Whatever it was, it was doing a good work. He couldn't smell any blood on him.

The black-fur finished rubbing before answering.

"Only those that bring further into the ruins, yes-yes." He commented, that subtle traces of nervousness the only signs that Morr could get from him.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

"T-then, we can try…" He was about to try and propose to go further into the ruins and wait out for all this thing to blow out, but just then a series of violent barks attracted his and Gargant's attention.

Morr felt his blood ran cold. Those horrile cries! He knew them!

"They have hounds-rats." Gargant said grimly, his jaw set.

"Let's move!" He cried.

Morr didn't need to be asked twice.

He rushed behind his brother, and, together, they dashed along the corridors, any pretence of stealth thrown out the window.

Morr ignored aches and fatigue as he pumped his legs as much as he could to match Gargant's gait, terror putting more than a spark in him. He felt his heart thumping furiously in his chest as the barks and cries of the wolf-rats echoed behind them.

They ran and ran, but it seemed to no avail as the sounds of the monster pursuing them got closer and closer.

Soon enough, it became clear that they couldn't outrun them, not without a precise route to follow.

So, just as they arrived at a point where the corridor formed a concave T, Morr pushed through terror and fear and gestured for his brother to stop. Wheezing, he pointed at the wall, then took out his mace.

Gargant just nodded, and took out shield and spear.

Giving their backs to the wall, they faced the central corridor side by side, weapons at the ready.

Morr felt sweat flowing through his fur, making it hot and heavy. The mace shook in his trembling paws, and he had the impression that his heart was about to burst. But, deep in his terror, there was an obstinate, desperate desire to survive. Survive, survive at any cost.

At his side, Gargant presence pressed on his senses like a silent shadow. He was calm, his brother, calmer and more collected than any other skaven he had ever met.

It brought him comfort having him at his side, but it was a sour meal. He knew it. Soon, Gargant would betray him.

Strangely, he thought back to his dreams of opening a shop.

So strange for him to think about that right then.

The moment was broken by a cacophony of barks and hideous chittering. The pack of wolf-rats exploded out of the corridor in a mass of matted fur and fangs. They moved faster than anything Morr had ever seen and he managed only to raise his mace once before they were upon him.

The pack of beasts smashed against him like a cannoball. Morr squealed as pain exploded in chest and was knocked down from his feet. The remaining air in his lungs was violently pushed out when the floor collided with his back.

The wolf-rat that had barrelled on him was a snarling mass of teeth and fangs. It twisted frantically, disheleved legs scrambling in search of a hold.

Morr barely managed to move a paw before it was blocked under a dirty talon.

Squealing in terror, he pushed his mace against the wold-rat's face. The monster bit on it like an hungry dog and violently twisted his head left and right, snatching it away from his grasp.

Ignoring the weight bearing down on him, Morr scrambled for the long knife at his waist. He found it just as searing pain exploded in his tight. Clenching his teeth against it, he pulled the weapon out and punched upwards.

The beast exploded into a horrible whine, that made Morr's blood freeze.

Still, feeling its grasp slackening, he pushed a leg against the thing and pushed it away from him.

Adrenaline pumping into his vein, he made to jump at his feet, but pain lanced through his leg, making him fall again with a squeal. Still, he managed to prop himself on an elbow.

Two dead wolf-rats stained the floor around Gargant with their black blood, the black-fur's attention upon the other three monsters sieging him.

As Morr watched, Gargant impaled one with his spear, the strenght of the blow enough to make the point of the weapon erupt from the back of the thing. Without stopping his momentum, the black-fur brought his shield to slam against the snout of another, the crunch of broken bones echoing in the corridor.

Still, the third had slipped through the defences of the embattled black-fur, and was ready to jump upon him from a side.

Without thinking, just alarmed fear in his mind, Morr threw himself forward. He managed to grab one of the back-legs of the wolf-hound just as the beast made to jump.

Caught by surprise, the monster lost balance with a howl and what was a pounce ended into a inarticulated lunge.

It smashed against the floor, bringing Morr's arm to do the same. Morr chittered in pain but didn't let go.

The wolf-rat turned to him, chittering and barking, fangs unsheated like broken knives. Then, Gargant smashed his skull against the floor with a shield bash.

Sudden silence fell.

Chest heaving, Morr watched wide-eyed the splattered monster. Slowly, he raised his gaze.

Gargant was watching him, expression indecipherable.

For a moment, it was only them, gazes locked.

Then, a chorus of war-like chitters echoed into the corridors.

"Brother!" Morr squeaked. He tried to get up, but, as soon as he put weight on the leg, a bolt of searing pain sent him down again. With horror, he saw that the talons of the wolf-rats had sank deep into his knee, the blood pooling underneath him.

"Brother! Help!" He called, frightened.

Gargant moved toward him, but then hesitated.

"Brother, what…" Morr stopped. He could feel it. The tension, the moment, clear before his eyes as fabric stretched thin.

Gargant hesitated again, eyes flicking at Morr's wounds. He wouldn't have been able to run like that. They both realized it.

Morr watched him, his soul trembling.

"Please, don't leave me." He murmured.

It was perfect. Leaving him there, just when the pursuers were about to catch them. They would fuss a bit about the loss of the pack, ask some questions, but in the end, they wouldn't follow him, not when they had caught their main quarry already. And, while they bickered about whose the merit of catching was, he would have all the time to disappear into the ruins.

It was perfect.

"Please, brother."

Morr felt tears prickle his eyes. Despite everything, he hoped that a miracle would happen, that his brother would remain by his side. Despite the danger, despite his scheming against him, despite all his expectations and against any common sense.

"Please, don't leave me, i beg you. Don't leave me here."

Gargant watched him, his expression unreadable.

"Brother."

Then, without a word, he turned around and dashed away, disappearing into one of the side corridor.

Morr remained there, his mouth still open to plead. Like a lonely candle, his hope fizzled out, and he was alone.

Trembling, he tightened his paws and squeezed his eyes shut. He whimpered, then sobbed. His chest hurt, hurt more than anything else he had experienced before, like someone had exchanged his heart with a mass of nails. But nothing had hit him there.

He was still whimpering when the chittering voices came closer and closer.

There was brief exchange that sounded distant to his ears, then, cautious steps.

Wheezing, in pain, with tears streaking down his cheeks, managed to turn his neck enough to look into the corridor.

A lonely skaven appeared in there.

Morr opened his eyes wide in recognizing him.

"Throttle?"


	13. Chapter 13

For a moment, Morr thought that his eyes were playing jokes on him.

But no, no, that smell, that dull hazelnut fur; it was Throttle, it was him, without a doubt.

The skaven looked better than how Morr had ever seen him, his scraggly coat groomed and even glinting of a dull shine in some points. A nice helmet covered his head, letting him see his surprised expression.

An expression that, as he watched him, changed to anxious thoughtfulness.

Throttle's eyes darted between Morr's prone form and the corner from which he had come. Somebody called for him, with words that Morr couldn't quite catch, and the skaven replied shakily.

"N-not-not!" He said. "N-nobody! But let me see-see better!"

There was a brief answer, to which Throttle nodded, swallowing. Then turned to him once again, and Morr started. There was a hungry light Throttle's little eyes, and it was directed at him.

Only in that moment he noticed the dagger in the paw of the skaven, and all the weight of the situation fell upon him.

Panting, trembling, he tried to push himself up. Pain exploded in his knee, and he fell down again with a squeak.

"You-you did a great job with those, yes-yes." Throttle observed, panting slightly, gaze darting to the fallen bodies of the wolf-rats, some of them still twitching even after death's hands had been laid over them.

Morr exhaled a trembling breath, feeling the cold of the floor meld with his own.

"Why are you-you here too?" He asked.

Throttle ignored him.

"But-but you couldn't have done-done this alone, no." He said, starting to advance cautiously toward him.

Clenching his jaw against the pain, Morr raised himself from the floor and rolled himself over. Flames seemed to lick where his blood kept on running out from him, and he barely managed to not squeak again.

He remained there, panting heavily. There was a terrible numbness radiating from his knee and along his leg.

"Where's he-he?" Throttle's voice was a shaky bark.

"I-i don't know what are you-you talking about."

"Lies! There was-was a black-fur with you-you. Where is it?"

Morr didn't answer, but, despite no wound having being laid upon him there, he felt his chest throb with pain.

With a pained whimper, he planted his elbows against the floor, and began to drag himself toward the wall and away from Throttle. He still clutched his long knife, and the hazelnut Skaven hesitated at seeing it.

Their gazes locked for a moment into each other, and Throttle's snout twisted with hateful anger.

"You've always been a stupid-idiot one." He spat. "With your working together stupid-stupid crap. Always thinking you could command, dd you? Well-well look where it has gotten you-you." He showed yellowed, broken teeth in a grin.

Morr brought himself to rest against the wall, sweat running into his fur. The knife trembled in his grip.

"But-but it worked, didn't?" He wheezed. "We worked better-better. Taking turns. Covering for each other. Pooling things together. We worked better than we would have done alone, yes-yes."

Throttle snarled, slashing the air with his knife.

"That's not-not how it works, you stupid-fool!"

Despite everything, his fury susprised Morr.

"What do you-you mean?"

Throttle lapped at his snout, his eyes flicking briefly at the knife that Morr raised before himself. There was an almost feverish light in them.

"Why do you-you think that the Tradelord has created this farce of a system, you fool-fool?"

"To make money, yes-yes. To squeeze our work." Was Morr's ready answer. He didn't know at what Throttle was aiming to, and that only added to the coldness in his vein.

Throttle nodded, an angry snarl escaping his lips.

"Yes-yes, but not only that! Not only that! It's to see who's the strongest!" He spread his arms wide, his voice raising like he wanted all the world to hear him. "Who's the true skaven between us-us! Who's that will understand! Who will refuse to serve! Who will show himself to understand where the true calling is-is!"

Morr blinked, his increasingly sluggish thoughts struggling to keep up.

"You-you mean…"

"To kill!" Throttle barked. He raised the knife before his face, angry light burning in his gaze. "Take-take another skaven and skever him! Stab him-him! Kill-kill him! Then they will see-see that you're better! Then they will see-see that you're a warrior!"

Suddenly, he jumped at Morr, screaming wildly. Caught by susprise, his heart leaping in his chest, Morr barely managed to catch the uncordinated slash with his own weapon. He lost his grip, though, and the knife flew away, clinking against the floor and ending spinning in the left corridor.

Throttle jumped back, his own weapon gripped with both arms. He was trembling wildly.

Slowly, almost with surprise, he watched Morr's bare paws.

A shaky snicker escaped from his mouth.

"Yes…" He murmured. "Yes!" He exclaimed, his snicker raising to a cackling. "I am a warrior! I-i am a warrior, yes!"

Morr watched him dumbstruck. He felt like someone had dumped ice in his veins and mud in his thoughts.

"I-i…!" Throttle began, grinning widely. "I understood too-too late what the right way to raise was, that to kill-kill was needed! When i was too-too old!" Despite his ecstatic tone, pain and regret flashed in his expression. "I… i thought that i wouldn't ever-never have another chance, and then… and then you came. So young, so stupid-naive. You still had-had the chance, you still could prove yourself, but you were so-so stupid!" He cackled, but in his laughter there was something that horrified Morr. "You-you were following the stupid rules, and i… and i… i hated you-you for it-it!" His tone turned to hateful anger. "You were-were young! You still could become a warrior, but you were too stupid-fool to understand the truth! You had what i wanted, what i deserved, and you were wasting it-it all! I heard it, you know. How you went-scuttled into the ruins alone. Stupid! Foolish! You had only to stick a knife in Lurk's back and the chieftain would have noticed you! He would have made you-you a warrior!" He said, feverishly. Morr could do nothing but watching him with his eyes wide.

Throttle pointed an accusatory finger against him.

"No! You had to be-be stupid! You-you have to be a fool! You had to make me hate you-you!" He admired the knife that he still clutched. "But no more of that now-now! No! Now Kabrik has noticed me! He has given me weapons! He has given me armor! He has given me a new chance! And you…" He turned his picked eyes to him. "You will be my tribute to him-him!"

Morr couldn't move. He felt like his body had become stiff as metal.

"Throttle…" He breathed, finding that even speaking cost him. "Old friend…"

"Silence!" Throttle waved his weapon in the air, his snout twisting in anger. "You had it-it! You had your chance! And you-you wasted it! Now die! Die and become fuel for the ascension of another! One that's better than you-you!"

Morr could only watch with mute terror as Throttle raised his knife high.

A feverish light burned into the hazelnut skaven's eyes as he stared him down.

"I have waited so-so long…"

The knife fell.

The sound of flesh getting pierced echoed into the corridor.

Morr opened eyes that he didn't remember of having closed and watched up. To the blackened stake that emerged from Throttle's chest.

The hazelnut skaven was staring at it too, almost with surprise.

Slowly, trembling, he turned his head around.

"B-but…"

His knife clinked on the floor.

"But this w-was… this w-was my…"

He watched Morr.

For a moment, their gazes locked.

"I have w-waited… my…"

His eyes glazed, and the skaven slumped by a side, his body barely making a sound as he touched the floor.

Morr watched him, a strange empty sort of daze taking his mind, then raised his head.

Gargant looked thoroughly mortified.

"I-i am sorry, brother." He grumbled.

Ignoring dazeness and exhaustion, Morr raised a shaky paw toward him. Surely he was dreaming. Surely his mind was playing jokes over him.

Still, as he pushed it forwad his paw found real fur, filthy bandages and cloth entangled in it, just like his brother would have had.

"You're returned."

That realization blossomed into his chest like someone had lit up a little fire inside of it, just as those words left his lips.

His brother had returned.

Exhaustion took his toll on him, and his arm fell back down. His thoughts swirled slowly, like pebbles into murky water.

Gargant was at his side in a moment, his paws fiddling about his knee. He was mumbling something under his breath, rapidly, but Morr couldn't quite understand what it was.

When the black-fur raised his head, Morr saw that his wounds were tightily bandaged with pieces of his cloth armor. He resistered with a ripple of fear the pool of blood under him, and the fact that despite looking tight, he couldn't feel the bandages on his skin.

"Let's go-go." Gargant said.

Morr watched him. There was something strange in his brother's eyes, an emotion that he couldn't actually understand.

"You've came back." He just said.

Gargant nodded.

"I am sorry."

"You came back."

"That i did."

Morr closed his mouth. He didn't know what else to say.

Searching for something, he glanced at his leg.

"I cannot walk like this."

"No matter." Gargant shook his head. "I will-will carry you."

"But…" He wanted to say that it was impossible, that with those two heavy books pulling him down, plus the big backpack that the blackfur already carried, he wouldn't ever be able to pull it off. Still, he didn't got the chance.

"I will carry you." Gargant's gaze was firm, and Morr realized that arguing was useless, especially because he felt himself not wanting to do it.

He just nodded.

Gargant left the spear, but gathered the knives, putting them all into his belt. Then, he knelt on the ground and gave his brother his back, gesturing for him to just hop in.

Morr hesitated. He knew that the pursuers were barely behind the corner, maybe just about to ask again what was happening, but, despite that, his eyes kept on going on the corpse that was strewn on the floor. He thought that it looked like he was just sleeping.

Under Gargant's quizzical glance, he extended a paw and grabbed the helm covering his head. As soon as he touched it, a little chorus of whispers murmured into his ears, like soft silvery bells, before disappearing once again. He remained like that for a moment, then took it out with caution, exposing the bald head that he had grown accostumed to see.

He clutched the helm at his chest, a feeling of ash in his mouth.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, he diverted his eyes, and moved toward Gargant. The black-fur felt steady as a rock as he climbed over his backpack.

"Steady?" Gargant asked when he stopped.

Morr nodded, before remembering that he could see him like that.

"Yes." He croaked.

"Good. Here-here we go then."

Morr had to grit his teeth as Gargant stood up, pain darting up his thigh. Still, his position was stable enough and he held easily.

The black-fur wobbled slightly under the weight, before ending in a firm stance.

Without a word, he started running.

By now, running through those ruins had become something of aquired for Morr. That time, though, it felt like he was leaving something behind, to enter in something completely new and unknown. In a way, it felt like leaving a cave full of gas, just to scuttle inside a tunnel that ended in darkness.

For a bit, the only sounds that he heard were Gargant's hurried steps and his steady breathing. Busy with dealing with the tangle of emotions in his chest, the silence suited him well.

"Brother?" Gargant mumbled suddenly.

"Mh?"

"I am sorry."

"Yes, you already said-squeaked that."

"I am sorry."

"…"

"Brother?"

"I don't get you-you, you know?"

"Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry."

"Sorry."

"…Oh, forget it-it. Do you-you have something to eat?"

"Oh, ye-ye. The pocket in the back."

"This one? It's empty, yes-yes."

"Look better."

"Oh, there's really something. Sniff sniff, what's this? It smells good-good."

"It's cheese, done from the man-things of Bretonnia. Try it-it."

"Mmmh… hey, it's really good! Where did you take this?"

"…kind of a long story."

"Ye-ye, alright, that's ok."

Another moment of silence fell between them as Morr fed upon the hard cheese and Gargant focused on the road ahead.

"Bro?" Morr murmured after a while.

"Yes?"

"Can i ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Do you think that… being skaven, it could possibly be a curse?"

"…"

"Gargant?"

"Dunno, brother. I am sorry."

"Yeah, i suppose that only the Horned Rat knows the answer, yes?"

"Is that so."

"Hey."

"What?"

"Stop calling me only brother. Call me-me Morr too."

"Ok… sorry."

"And stop saying-squeaking sorry."

"Sorry."

A sigh.

Morr laid his head on his brother's back, trying to take a bit of rest. His mind was calm now, or at least, as calm as exahustion could bring. His emotions were a tangled into a knot that it would need a lot of time to actually understand, but for that there would have been time. For now, he just listened to the steady beat of Gargant's breath and let his battered body relax. Still, an impression sticked over him, the shadow of a memory of nights passed into a filthy hole into the ground, cuddled against that same fur, listening to that same strong, pulsing heart. He had the impression of something snapping into place, like a door finally shut over a cold morning, after a freezing night, and he relished it, letting it lull him sweetly.

* * *

Kabrik got up from having knelt before the corpse.

"Throttle." He said, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Standing behind the chieftain at a respectable distance, Crenk grunted.

"He tried to get-get all the glory for himself. Said-squeaked to the boys that he hadn't found nothing-anything." He said, almost impressed with the little skaven's resourcefulness. He hadn't thought that he could be so ballsy.

Letting his paw pass over dull hazelnut fur, Kabrik nodded.

"He tried his-his best." His gaze moved to the spear still embedded into the corpse. "Through the ribs, through the heart and cleanly coming through the other side-side." He observed. "This black-fur knows his stuff. He didn't even glance the bones-bones"

Kabrik nodded with approvation.

"And from behind, yes-yes. A good-good shot."

The chieftain didn't answer, looking thoughtful.

Crenk felt the fur on the back of his neck stand on an end, and subtly took a half-step back. He knew that atmosphere, like there was a storm brewing, just out of sight. The chieftain was angry.

"Chieftain! Chieftain, yes-yes!"

Crenk let out a mental sigh of relief as a clanrat came scuttling toward them. Better to have an underling at arm lenght when that tense silences came up.

Slowly, almost deliberately, the Chieftain turned to address him. The clanrat, maybe because of something that he pied up, or maybe because he wasn't as stupid as he looked, esitate for a moment, before crouching before the chieftain, puzzle and tail held respectufully down.

"G-great chieftain, mighty-strong warrior and destroyer of no-furs and traitor-furs, a-allow this unworthy servant to-to…"

Crenk grimaced slightly. First rule when the chieftain is angry: do not waste his time. He had passed enough time by his side, and seen enough underlings ending as stains on the floor, to understand that. This messenger was lucky to have something to say.

"Get to it."

The clanrat shuddered, his mouth snapping shut like a bear trap.

"W-we found-smelled the trail, chieftain! I-i have…"

"Where?"

Crenk had to repress a grin. Not the moment to try and accrue merit to himself.

The clanrat nervously lapped at his snout.

"T-they scuttled-ran toward the eastern corridors, yes-yes! They…" He abruptly interrupted himself, terror flashing in his eyes.

Crenk made to divert his eyes, but, to his slight surprise, the chieftain turned and marched off.

He glanced at the kneeling messenger, that looked almost surprised of being still alive, before following.

"They are going-running toward the depths of the ruins, yes-yes." He said after what it felt the right amount of time.

Kabrik didn't answer.

Taking that as his cue, Kabrik whistled.

The stormvermin of the retinue repli swiftly, barking order to the rest of the clanrats to be ready to move out.

"We can follow them-them, but it could be risky, yes-yes. The scavengers said-squeaked that the dead-things are acting up-up."

Again, no answer.

Kabrik stopped at the entrance of the corridor that the duo had allegedly taken in their escape.

Crenk did the same, at a respectful distance. He glanced at the chieftain, trying to pick up his mood.

Yep. Angry. Very very angry.

"Crenk." Kabrik's voice was a deep rumble.

"Yes, master."

"I-i want their pelts-furs for my shrine."

"Yes, master."

"Just for a little bit. We-we'll follow them just for a little bit-bit. Then we'll be-be back for the important things. Alright?"

"Yes, master."

Crenk didn't have to glance to immagine the bloodshot look of the chieftain's eyes in that moment.

Showing back his concerns about all that story, he looked behind. The column was assembled and ready to go, the packmaster already assembling his remaining pets for the chase.

There was no signal or cry. The chieftain, without even looking behind, just raised a paw and gestured forward.

And the hunt was on.

* * *

Gargant smelled them first.

It was a terrible mix of urine, rank animal musk and rotten meat. He didn't even know how in the hell it was even possible for such things to actually exist so close together, but, after all, it wasn't like that the wolf-rats had any right to be a living thing in the first place.

Glancing behind his shoulder, he saw the sleeping snout of his brother. Morr had fallen asleep fast, proof of how much blood he had lost, and of what he had endured.

As always, Gargant felt a knot of conflicting emotions rising in his chest, and, as always, he pushed it back. He had to remain lucid, now more than ever. He didn't oppose the stab of guilt, though. He deserved it.

Reaching for his back, he tested the strenght of the ropes that tied his brother to him. They were solid. Good. He was happy of having stopped to make those knots. Time well spent.

Returning to the matter at hand, he perked up his ears. Yes, he could hear them.

Chittering and howling, barking and snarling. It sounded like a chorus of horrible rats, distorted against their own nature. And, well, that was what it was.

Bah. Nasty things.

He gave a look to the mental map that he had put together during his forays in those ruins. If he remembered correctly, that way brought to an old bridge and, beyond it, to the unexplored part of the ruins.

Taking a breath, Gargant increased the rythm of his scuttering jog. There was no need to rush. He could feel their pursuers getting close, but they would need a bit of time to actually catch up; and he was confident enough that, after losing their first group of wolf-rats, whoever was in command would use the rest more sparingly, keeping them tight on the leash until they had a good visual on them. Those things were expensive enough to warrant a good use of them.

Well, that was his hypotesis, at least. He couldn't be completely sure of it, but he had to conserve his stamina anyway; so, there it was.

No use in overthinking, though. He was confident enough that, once in the unexplored parts of those ruins, they would give up the chase.

If something different would happen, well, he would deal with it when it happened.

Gargant kept his breath to a steady rythim, sucking in air through his large nose. He kept his chest relaxed, and he used his diaphragm to push out and pull air in.

His heart pumped strong and his mind was clear. He could feel his muscles contract, following steadily and without mishaps his orders, as well as the strenght that flowed through them.

He could do this. No use in fretting.

Still, again, he felt a strange anxious feeling at the bottom of his stomach.

Strange. What it could be?

The arms of his brother around his neck moved slightly as Morr mumbled something in his sleep.

Ah, that's what it was. It was the first time for him to escape while having someone with him. Someone to protect.

Gargant mphed. Life sure could be strange.

Three hundreds heartbeats later, the chittering howls raised of intensity.

Gargant frowned. They had released the rat-wolves?

Wondering what was behind so much eagerness to catch them, he reached for one of the pockets of his backpack, and took a little bundle out of it. A bit of regret rippled through him as he raised it over his head. If only he had had a little more time before the first assault, his brother wouldn't have ended up as wounded as he was.

Thinking that, he threw the bundle behind himself, listening at its wet splat as it collided with the floor.

A piece of meat drenched in an extract of vinegar, alcool and wolfsbane. At the best, one of those curs would gulp it down and die; at the worst, they would just take a good sniff and have their noses disarranged for a bit. However it went, they would earn a few precious moments to reach the bridge. Wolf-rats weren't good at much, just sniffing, eating and mauling.

Fifty heartbeats later, a chorus of whines gave him confirm that at least the worst had happened.

He grinned, and decreased his gait slightly.

Another one hundred heartbeats later, he realized without doubt that, despite having slowed the hounds down, his pursuers were catching up too fast. He could almost make out their rushed steps.

Feeling no need to look behind, Gargant wondered what the reason of all that was.

A little clanrat, barely a little more than a ratling, defying a chieftain on a matter of workposts. And then, that same chieftain pushing what it probably was his entire retinue in a relentless chase of that same clanrat, arriving even to sacrifice an entire pack of wolf-rats to catch him?

He could understand the need to maintain one's respect, it was, after all, often the difference between a succesful commander and a dead one, but this was beyond reckless. It was a unreasonable waste of critical resources. It didn't make any sense.

Except if Morr hadn't told him all the truth.

He pushed back that thought with distaste. He really couldn't be the one blaming others for lies and keeping secrets.

After one hundred heartbeats, thanks to his knowledge of the pathways, he had managed to put some distance between himself and his pursuers once again.

Still, and that wasn't good, he was starting to feel the whispers of the dead-things forming into the air.

Gargant clenched his jaw, and accelerated.

After another seventy-five heartbeats, the first pursuers came into view.

"There he is-is!"

"Kill-kill! Quick-quick!"

Gargant glanced behind the time necessary to take stock of them.

Clanrats in black and light attires. Three of them, with one belonging to a clear superior rank. Probably Eshin Night Runners and a Nightleader. They wielded throwing stars and swords.

Feeling slightly impressed by the size of Kabrik's connections, Gargant accelerated slightly.

He counted up to five, then abrubtly moved by a side. The throwing stars aimed for his legs ended up on clinking on the floor or just slashing the air.

Without stopping, he reached for one of the knife at his waist. Reciting an excuse to his brother for losing his suff, he spinned and threw it against the Nightleader, then returned to run. There was a sound of metal against metal, together with a startled squeak.

Gargant nodded when he felt the rapid steps of his pursuers stop. Nothing good as a close encounter with death to make even a leader pause. And if the leader paused, the underlings did the same.

Fear was a powerful tool.

Using those precious moments, he managed to disappear from the sight of the trio.

Still, too close. And the whispers were intensifing.

The following one hundred heartbeats were spent attempting to restabilish as much distance as possible between him and his pursuers.

Morr murmured something, and Gargant, focused on the chase, vaguely wondered what he was dreaming, and if it was pleasant.

He puffed. Well, there was to hope that at least he would wake to something pleasant.

Gargant kept on running, but, during the long moments that followed, it became increasingly obvious to him that his advantage, instead of increasing, was diminishing more and more. And this time, he heard the clanking of armors together with the sounds of rushed steps.

There was only so much he could do while weighted down by his brother and both their bags at the same time, he was painfully aware of that. The whispers crowded his ears like a sea wave.

Still, he pressed on.

He was starting to feel the fatigue settle in, when he turned a corner, and the bridge suddenly appeared before his eyes.

It was a rickety, wonky thing, made of rotten planks barely held together across a great crevasse. He could hear the sound of running water coming from down.

Relieved, Gargant threw away any attempt to keep his stamina and broke into a dash.

He was almost at its entrance, when a great shape jumped out of the brim of the crevasse.

Moving out of instinct than aything else, Gargant threw himself at the ground, and, the halberd slash aimed to take his head passed a hair breath from his brother's books.

Gargant didn't stop, rolling over to get back up. As he moved, he saw flashes of a heavy armor, leaving to see only black fur and scars where it didn't cover, and two bloodshot eyes over a rodent snout.

A blow reached him at his midsection, and he stiffened his muscles, barely managing to absorb the blow without ending flat again.

He jumped back, drawing his second knife barely in time to deflect a mailed fist that would have broken his skull.

He stopped at good distance, sizing up his opponent.

He was a giant of a skaven, heavily armed and armored. A glance was enough for Gargant to understand that he was completely outmatched.

Still, he kept his weapon high.

For a moment, they faced each other, the giant skaven blocking the pass for the bridge. At the edge of his senses, Gargant could hear the sounds of the rest of the pursuers getting close, mixing with the angry choir of the whispers. He pushed both at the margins of his awareness, focusing on the enemy in front of him.

He and his opponents' gazes locked, and to his surprise, he saw a flash of surprised recognition pass through them.

It lasted just for a moment, then a terrible anger replaced it, and the skaven let out a roar and attacked, his halberd held high.

Gargant crouched, ready to spring and fight.

Suddenly, the whispers exploded into a maelstrom of cacophony, their angry voices raising to a frenzied high-pitch. Caught by susprise, Gargant stumbled, his balance lost for a moment as a white fog crowded with angry faces covered his vision. Through it, he saw the shape of his opponent stumble under the same assault.

Gritting his teeth, Gargant focused his will, and threw himself half-blindly forward. He impacted against his opponent's shape, pushing him by a side, and dashed beyond, toward the bridge. The planks were slippery, and Gargant had almost to guess their positions as he jumped forward. The sound of rushing water from under his feet mixed with the screams, and he swayed and wobbled, but still managed to push forward.

His paws rushed to frantically unknot the ropes that held Morr, and, when he came loose, he grabbed his brother between his arms.

Then, suddenly, he heard the sound of ropes getting cut behind him. Out of instinct, barely seeing, he threw Morr forward, just a moment before that the ground gave way under his feet.

He flailed wildly, before his paws managed to get a grip of one plank. Air rushed against him, followed by something hard and compact smaghino against him. Gargant barely managed to maintan his grip, and remained there, with the legs dangling over nothing.

Wheezing, gritting his teeth, he swung his legs until they found another plank to which to stand. Slowly, ignoring the pain blossoming in his body and the voices screaming in his ears, he pushed himself up, scaling plank after plank, angry determination burning in his chest. Suddenly, his feet slided over slippery wood and he was almost about to lose his grip, when a paw grabbed his arm and began to pull him up weakly.

Aided by it, Gargant found back his grip and returned to rise. The ladder ended and his paws found solid ground, upon which he threw himself with a last effort. He remained there, with his back over cold earth, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Between the cacophony of the voices, he recognized one in particular, a whiny, chittering voice that he had almost got used to hear.

* * *

Crenk found the chieftain standing before the edge of the crevasse. He watched across the abyss. The remains of the bridge hung down from the other side, swinging slighly like a oversized ladder.

Glancing warningly to the rest of the retinue, not like it was needed, as they looked exahausted, Crenk made his way to him.

Kabrik was more hunched than usual, like there was a great weight hanging over him. His gaze, that Crenk had seen overflowing with anger and hate, showed only tiredness now as he looked across the crevasse.

Crenk waited for him to talk.

"It was really him… really him…" The chieftain murmured after a while, looking like he was talking to himself.

"Do you-you believe in destiny, Crenk?" He asked suddenly.

Crenk folded his arms before his chest. With Kabrik, he had learned by now that it was useless to ask questions.

"Never thought about it-it, chieftain." He said. "For me, it's just my-my weapon, food-meat and the enemy."

Kabrik mphed.

"Maybe you are the-the one that is in the right." He spat beyond the edge. When he turned, his eyes had retaken his usual shine. "Let-let's go back. This game has lasted long enough."

Crenk nodded dutifully, but left his pleased smirk show. He knew that the chieftain would understand it anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

_He has left!_

 _But he has returned!_

 _But he has left!_

 _And then he has returned!_

 _But! But!_

Thoughts like those swirled madly inside Morr's head as he struggled to guide Gargant's hunched form. The curse of the dead-things still robbing him of sight and hearing, the black-fur half-crawled forward, metodically groping at walls and floor as he struggled to find his way. Morr gripped his paw with both of his own, theorically playing the guide, but feeling more like he was the one leaning against his brother for support rather than the other way around.

The crevasse, and Kabrik with it, were bad, black dreams left behind their back, and he was more than eager to put the most distance that he could between himself and them. He was even happy of seeing before them other damned corridors and other damned frescoes over other damned smooth walls.

He was terrified, ecstatic and full to the brim of nervous energy, all at the same time. They did it; they had managed to escape! But then, now they were stranded! Alone! And Gargant had left him, but then he had returned! And now they were alone, stranded who knew where, and they were free! … and he didn't know if his brother could take his sight back and… and…

"Bro."

Morr started at hearing his brother's quiet voice and turned to him.

"Calm down." He said. "We're safe. We're ok."

Keeping his eyes closed, Gargant grinned.

Morr felt a tug in his gut, but said nothing, averting his gaze. His eyes stung.

 _He left!_

 _But he has returned!_

 _He has returned!_

 _He has returned!_

Even if initially that new area of the ruins had looked similar to where they had already passed, that changed soon. The ample and colored corridors gave way to solemn walkways surmonted by great arches set in high ceilings; the chambers and halls with their signs of civilian life disappeared entirely, not a single door to interrupt the smooth walls. Only the strange, flowing patterns remained the same, sneaking their way over walls, ceiling and floor alike, their otherwordly colors and shapes seeming to subtly shift.

Despite the impellent wish to rest, Morr pushed to get as much as distance as possible from that wretched bridge. He could very well immagine Kabrik trying to jump or swim across to get him by this point.

After what it seemed it was far enough, even if he had no idea where he was going, he began to search for a place, possibly secluded and tight, to stop into.

To his chagrin, he found none. Did he already say that the elf-things and their stupid houses suck? Because they really really really did. Curses, it looked like they had build that stupid place just to get in his way!

Eventually, he resigned himself to the fact that that place was a single labyrinth and, taking a spot where the corridor formed a smooth curve, he lead Gargant to rest in it.

His paws carefully touching around, the black-fur sat by the wall, and Morr found himself helping him. He was surprised for a moment by it, before shaking away that thought.

Gargant leaned his head against the wall, taking a long, deep breath.

"Tired?" He asked, his eyes still closed.

Morr felt the strange need to laugh histerically. Tired? Oh, more than anything else. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't hurt or felt uncomfortable, and he felt ready to just drop down and fall asleep, or, more probably, just die, but, at the same time, a nerve-wracking energy filled him, keeping him from even try to contemplate the chance of resting and making him feel like a tense rope ready to break. And, damn, if he knew that to rest was out of the picture now, especially with a blind Gargant.

He put a paw against the wall, breathing hard.

"A bit." He just said. Understatement of the year.

"Your knee?"

Morr paused. He had forgotten about that.

His mind already jumping to thoughts of permanent crippling, he cautiously made to move his knee. To his surprise, he found out that not only he could feel it alright, but that he could move it too. Alright, it hurt still and he wasn't running anytime soon, but it was nothing before the terrifying numbness of earlier.

"I-i can move it-it." He said with disbelief.

Gargant nodded, the shadow of a little smile hanging over his snout.

"Strips-bands of troll hide, yes-yes." He explained quietly. "With something else-else over it, don't ask what, because i don't know-know. Alchemical stuff-thing."

Morr watched with marvel both his brother and his knee. Such an incredible medicine!

"They were the last i had, though." Gargant continued, promptly snuffing out his rising enthusiasm. "And they work-heal only once."

Morr's ears fell down. Go figure. It was too good to be true.

With a little hiss, he turned to keep the corridors under control, while Gargant rested, breathing slowly.

They remained like that for a moment, silence hanging between them.

"Bro?" Gargant murmured after a while.

Morr didn't stop his surveillance. He was almost as busy trying to get a meaning out of the tangle of emotions and thoughts in his chest, though.

"M-mh?"

"Rest."

"I-i can't. There are dead-things."

"There aren't. Not-not now."

"You-you can't be sure about it."

"I am."

"And why's that-that?"

"Can't hear the murmurs-whispers now."

"…"

"I am not-not lying."

Morr left his arms fall with a heavy sigh. Truth was, he had not the strenght to bicker, not now. And then, more pressant matters raged through his head.

Deciding to not press the issue, he went to sit beside Gargant. Not like he was keeping sentry of much, after all.

""I-i still don't believe you." He said, more out of habit than anything else.

Gargant snorted, but there was little grin over his snout.

"You're so-so stubborn."

Morr didn't answer, regarding instead his paws. Out of anxiety, he kept on rubbing them together. Now, he watched them, like he could find an answer to all his questions in those furred fingers or in the blackened nails.

In the end, as the silence stretched between them, it became simply too difficult to keep them to himself.

"Why did you leave me?"

Morr was surprised by how the question came out. He thought that his tone would have been full of accusation, anger, maybe even desperation. Instead, his voice sounded calm, level, serious. He almost didn't recognize it.

There was a subtle shift in Gargant's demeanor. Like a ripple passed through his calm countenance. It was a little thing, but it jumped to Morr's attention immediately.

"Because i failed." He murmured.

To his immense surprise, Morr found himself not caring about that answer. He just… he just didn't care. Those three words just fell inside of his mind, was caught, regarded and then discarded in favor of others. Because he had returned. He had returned!

"Why did you return?" He asked, tense as a bowstring. Everything, he could feel it, hinged upon that question and that question only.

Gargant remained silent for a moment.

"I thought about something." He said slowly. "Skaven, we are. We don't believe in nothing but our survival, yes-yes. But… i thought. Brothers, we are. It could mean something? It could be… worth something?" He blindly extended a paw toward him. "Brother. My brother. It can be worth this?"

Morr watched him and his paw. His chest, just where his heart was supposed to be, throbbed with a kind of pain he hadn't ever experienced. Not the kind that came with the beatings, not the numbness by claws that had sunken deeply. It was like having a nest of rats squirming around settled in his chest. It was magnificent and unberable at the same time.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

"I…" Slowly, he raised his own paw, and placed it over the one of his brother, his eyes falling down. "Yes." He said, feeling his throat dry. "It can be worth something, i-i guess."

"I am sorry. I-i don't know the words for this kind of things."

"Me neither." Morr felt his voice break. "This isn't skaveny, i tell you-you. This isn't skaveny at all-all."

He had prepared himself for betrayal, for an end. As had alwasy been, as it has alwasy has to be between Skaven. And it happened, yes, but, then, Gargant had blown through that end, bringing him in a new world where he wasn't sure of anything anymore; where the old rules weren't as much as worth as a bad dream could be. Where they were brothers, and that meant something. That meant everything. And he was okay with it, more okay than he had ever been with something in his entire life.

"Are you crying again?"

"I-i am not!"

"Crybaby. You-you're always crying. I bet you have being always crying alone."

"Not-not true!"

There, in that moment, as he clutched his brother's paw, as he sobbed and struggled against tears, Morr felt it again. Like the sound of a door finally closed after a freezing night passed listening just to the howling wind. In that moment, more than anything else, he thought that maybe, just maybe, even a little skaven like him, could feel of having finally returned home.

* * *

 _Destroyers. Profaners. Betrayers._

She had come out. To bring light and lead the way. How else her brothers and sisters would ever continue with their studies?

Pain wracked her at the thought of them, lost and adrift in the darkness. Poor poor little souls.

 _Betrayers. Barbarians. Despoilers._

They had come, with robbed rocks and imprisoned winds, to despoil their works, to destroy their home, to stop the ever-moving wheel.

They had tried, and great and terrible devastation they had wrought, but success had eluded them in the end. Because her and her sisters and her brother had stood against them, them that would bring an end to rightness.

 _Despoilers. Defilers. Betrayers._

They had failed. The wall had been held. The gate had withstood the sea. The wheel had continued to spin and turn and turn and spin. The works had continued, the house kept on being filled with light and colors and life and beauty.

Her brothers and her sisters had continued to work, and study and be beautiful. And to her they had given the light. Because they had lost their eyes down in the well, and now they needed her to show them where to look.

She gave them light, and happiness was her reward. She danced and singed for them.

But again they returned.

 _Enemies. Betrayers. Betrayers. Betrayers!_

They wanted to snuff out the light, to make the wheel stop.

No, she couldn't have that. Her sisters and brothers needed her. She raised her song, but they had brought darkness against her. Once, twice, thrice. They had assailed. Pushed off the light. Blocked her sisters and brothers from seeing them.

She defied them. She would attack them. With horn and drum, from the flanks and from behind, with the strenght of the ancestors behind her. She was the heart of the light. Darkness would escape before her.

And they would regret.

 _Down in the earth with you._

* * *

Morr and Gargant waited for the black-fur to regain his senses before moving again. Thankfully, to Morr's endless relief, the curse of the dead-things was a temporary thing and soon enough, Gargant was back up again, blinking and rubbing his eyes like a newborn ratling. Morr was unsure if he felt bewildered or just relieved by how his brother took all those crippling chances. It seemed like there was nothing that could make Gargant buckle.

Still, those good news aside, their situation was dire.

They were practially stranded in unexplored territory, with no idea of where they were and no idea of how they could get out of it. Neither of them knew anything of that part of the ruins, even Gargant's forays having being limited to the other, closer sections. Of trying to go back, not even talking about it. With the bridge cast down, it was impossible to make cross again, and the crevasse was simply too steeped and deep for even trying to cross it over by foot and swimming, to not talk about the river itself, just by the sound strong enough to carry away a swarm of rat.

If they wanted a way out, they would have to find it.

First of all, they made a quick inventory of what they had, meaning food and water left. To his chagrin, Morr, together with the clothes he wore, had just a couple of knives, his old one and the one taken by Throttle, with the third thrown by Gargant during the chase; plus, he still had his old glowstone, a bundle of frayed rope and his backpack. A depressing bunch of worn-out things, of which the most precious by far were the two books tied to his back and his still half-full pouch of water.

Gargant, on the other side, was better equipped: he still had the shield taken by the pawleader and his big, bulky backpack seemed bursting of things and tools. Still, to Morr's frustration, he showed him only his pouch, this one full to the brim, and confirmed that he still had "enough food." What that meant was anyone's guessing, but there were things that you just couldn't coax out of the black-fur, no matter the level of insistence, and so Morr just gave him one of his knife and left it to that. Too bad he had lost his spear, but that was that, and it was useless to complain about it.

Done with the inventory, Gargant suggested that first of all they found a good place to camp, preferably with water close at paw. Then, they would focus on trying to find an exit. Morr was quick to agree. It was the right thing to do.

And so, they started marching. Gargant was at the front, shield at the ready and knife in his belt. Behind him and a bit to the side, it came Morr. Changing ideas about each other wasn't a reason to discard common sense. The black-fur was obviously the most indicated to stand as frontliner.

Despite everything, Morr felt optimistic. After all, they had evaded Kabrik's pursue and the Horned Rat could take his tail if brushing against death, and coming out on top, wasn't a reason to be happy. It felt like being born anew, with all the colors, and shapes, smells and sights seeming to bloom again, fresh and ready to be touched and smelled and enjoyed. Even having to scuttle again in those dreary ruins almost felt enjoyable. They had food and drink and nothing said that they couldn't find more, and soon, and the same could be said for an exit. The elf-things had to get out somewhere, wasn't it? And if they had it, it just meant that they could find it. And then, and that was what it made him feel like he had the Horned Rat smiling over him, it was that he wasn't alone, not anymore. His brother was by his side. He didn't even mind of having shown himself in tears once again. Or, at least, not much.

His thoughts had to show clearly on his snout, because Gargant glanced at him, looking a bit amused.

"You-you look happy."

"I-i am!" He chanted, cheerful.

Then, it happened.

Gargant looked sheepish. He actually, really looked embarassed.

Morr stopped and stared at him.

Then rubbed his eyes.

Then stared at him again.

"Stop looking at me-me like that." Gargant mumbled, averting his eyes.

And looking sheepish. Like, for real. Morr had seen him banish ghosts by screaming really hard. And now, he was looking sheepish.

Morr blinked.

Then grinned.

"What?" Gargant grumbled, frowning.

Barely managing to keep himself from snickering, Morr pointed an accusatory finger against him.

"You're blushing! Like a little-small ratling!"

Gargant stopped, going stiff as a board. He watched Morr for a moment, like he was watching him from very far.

Then, he turned and marched off.

"Not going to reply to that-that."

Morr scampered after him, cackling.

"You-you're totally blushing! Kekekeke!"

"Are you always this childish-stupid or it's just the moment?"

"Kekekeke! Gargant's blushing!"

"…stop it…"

"Totally blushing! He's like a little-small ratling! Kekekeke!"

"… i am warning you-you…"

"Now he's gonna hiccup, just like a ratling! Do you-you want me to hold you paw? Kekekeke!"

"…better than being a crybaby, yes-yes."

"What? T-that's a low blow! And i am not a cribaby!"

"You totally are, yes-yes."

"No, i am not!"

"…"

"Gargant? Bro? I-i am not a crybaby!"

"…"

"E-ehi! Answer me! Come on!"

"Crybaby…"

"Y-you, little…!"

They marched like that for a while, exchanging jibes and jokes while keeping an ear out for possible dangers. They both kept their voices down as to not being heard coming, but, again, Morr found himself almost compelled to talk with Gargant like that. It had happened already, and again he found himself without a precise answer as to why. Even if maybe, just maybe, he could guess it.

"Silence now-now." The black-fur said suddenly. There wasn't animosity in his voice, but his tone didn't admit for replies, and Morr found himself complying immediately.

"Hear-listen?"

Morr perked up his ears. Listen to what? Other voices? He really hoped that… but no! He could hear it! The sound of water!

Gargant nodded when he said it out loud.

"I-i think that it's the river of earlier." He said. "If we are lucky-lucky, we'll find a place where we can drink-slap."

Morr twitched in realization. Oh, so that was why Gargant had taken that way. He had thought that one road was good as all the others.

Gargant seemed to pick up his thoughts, because he put his paws over his sides, looking at him with what could pass for grim severity.

"You-you need to start to pay attention where you go-scuttle, alright?"

Morr bristled at that comment. How rude! He had always made attention to where his path went!

Gargant raised a paw as he made to protest.

"First, you went-scuttled alone into the ruins of the dwarves-things." He said, tapping on a raised finger. "And you risked your neck-tail. Then you went into the elves-things ruins." He raised another finger. "And you risked your neck-tail. Now you go-scuttle without looking where you go. And you're gonna risk your neck-tail." He jabbed a finger in his direction. "And what's with all this talking-squeaking while we explore the ruins-unknown? There could be dead-things everyhere here-here!" He squinted his eyes, a little moviment that was enough all the same to freeze Morr on the spot. "The truth is-is that you always jump ahead without thinking when you should, and you remain to think over things that you shouldn't be thinking about much-much. That's what-what."

That was probably the longest string of words that Morr had heard his brother utter, and it was enough to made him stand, rigid like a pole. With those baleful eyes keeping him ruthlessly pinned he made all the way and felt like a clanrat caught by the warlord with the paws into the larder, no, into the breeding chambers.

He made to argue, because, of course that there were many and good motives for his doing things they he had done, and they were… they were…

They were…

…ehm…

Morr fiddled with his fingers for a moment, tail, ears and snout low, before abruptly folding his arms before his chest and averting his eyes with a huff.

"I had-had my reasons! Good-good reasons! Excellent-majestic reasons! There!" He blurted out.

Not the most elegant of defences, but he had had enough beatings for a dietime and sure as hell he wasn't taking a scolding for those things again. And then, they were old history. Who cared about them?

The snort that Gargant puffed out sent a shiver up his back, but he made a point of showing a strong front.

"Well-well, next time you-you'll better to say those reasons to me-me."

Those words made the flicker of annoyance inside of Morr bloom into full-fledged irritation. Nobody could tell him what to do! He was the master of his decisions and nobody, not even his brother, could tell him what to do!

He showed his teeth to Gargant, made to argue back.

…and felt the irritation plummet down into gland-clenching, chickeny feeling.

Gargant was staring at him with a frown that could have pierced through rocks.

Morr felt himself melt for a second, before shaking himself up and jumping up like someone had pinched him.

"R-r-right!" He exclaimed, just a little hysteric note in his voice. "A-a-and now that we've reached an agreement-deal, u-u-up and away we goooo!" And without another glance at his terrifying brother, he but all sprinted off.

He heard a heavy sigh behind himself, but didn't stop to turn. Stupid Gargant! Who thought he was to talk to him like that? He was Morr! He had taken care of himself until then, and he could continue to do it! He would show him! That had been just a fluke of the moment!

In a way though, that scolding, as vexing, and nerve-wracking, as it had been, it almost felt… comforting?

Hearing his brother's steps behind him, Morr slowed down a little. He had always tought of himself as a rat careful of details, and it was frustrating to say the least finding in a situation that belied that thought. Still, though, maybe that was part of what being brothers meant too? Calling for each other, in that case needlessly, of course, remedy for the other's mistakes? Who knew? But then, why he felt like smiling?

* * *

 _ **x Arudee: That's right, but let's just say that the litter's sudden ejection from the breeding chambers has made them overlook the barely visible horns of Morr. They are so little that his fur is enough to cover them completely, and he has always been fearful of showing them before they grew in actual horns. Well, this and other reasons, but who knows.**_


	15. Chapter 15

Morr awoke with a little gasp.

He blinked, his sorroundings slowly coming into focus.

When they did, he laid down again with a sigh. Well, it looked like that calm sleep had officially become an impossibility for him. It felt like confused nightmares were everything that waited for him when he closed his eyes now.

Not that it was surprising, eh.

His close encounters with those ghost-things had become a staple by now, that terrible, terrifying chorus of voices and hate seeming to echo into his ears again and again. It gave him the creeps, but fear was something he was accostumed to and he could cope with it.

Different, completely different was the taste of ash that he felt on his mouth as he dreamed about Throttle.

His eyes, he remembered the most, full of feverish fervor first, and then of surprise, and then of nothing.

At unease, Morr turned on his ratty pallet.

He had seen death. Every skaven had. He had seen slaves beaten to death for an insubordination, fellow scavengers falling into holes and never coming back, or just disappearing by the end of a shift. He had seen clanrats killed on the streets. Once, he had even seen a battle between a band of stormvermin and a group of rowdy humans; seen the blades sink and smelled the metallic pang of blood in the air.

Seeing all of that, he had felt… angry. Frustrated. It was his world, the only one he had ever known, and, well, he had always thought that it was just how things worked. Skaven lived and died half by the whim of destiny, and half by the ability of being in the right place at the right moment and of being smart enough and strong enough. If they had died, it was only because the world worked like that, and he had thought that the anger he felt was for their inability to survive. And still…

He remembered an old fable that mother used to tell to the litter. A tale about a mouse caught into a trap, and a big, strong rat, and a thing that she called mercy.

It was that? That taste of ash that he felt into his mouth? Mercy?

He thought about Throttle, about his eyes, and his frenzied words. Who knew what immense mass of frustration, failures, tears and wounded pride had brought him to do what he had done, to believe to what he had said? To search for an explaination, any explaination, to justify for a wasted life passed to scramble into the mud, never managing to touch solid ground?

Again, that feeling of ash and broken things…

Out of instict, his paw reached to touch the helmet he had taken from him. It was good steel, smooth and polished to a dull sheen. Without him willing it, an image came to his mind; an old rat with a bald spot over his head, hunched over that same object, feverishly caring for it, while a new hope for things thought forever lost blossomed again.

Morr retrated his paw, fidgeting. He felt deeply at unease.

That was mercy? If it was, he didn't like it. Like, at all. It made him feel sick.

And then again, a deep, voiceless terror had taken him at seeing Throttle's eyes, at hearing his voice, his laughter. That terrible desperation, that disperaing hope to have his own wish fulfilled. It was because he had seen a possible future for himself in him? Because he had seen an ending that could have become his?

Restless, he turned into his pallet. It was a ratty, weather-worn blanket made of sackcloth that scraped against his skin at every movement, but it was always better than to sleep against hard rock. Gargant had offered it to him as they had stopped to make camp, taking it out of his apparently infinite supply of tools.

Searching for something with which to distract his troubled mind, his eyes fell upon the two books.

He had religiously taken care of them both, putting them close at paw reach and even sparing a part of the sackcloth to avoid for them to touch the dusty ground.

Glad of having something else to think, he extended a paw toward them. He hesitated to touch the black book, moving instead to caress the silvery one.

Slowly, carefully, he took it and opened it.

Diagrams, sigils and runes passed before his eyes as he rapidly flipped the page, admiring the ugly, smooth lines of the elven-things change to the more beautiful ragged claw-marks of the skaven.

Eventually, he settled on the last page he had read.

"Utmost care and attention…" he mentally read "…must be taken in handling even the most basic of spell, as well as the utmost humbleness, and the true master translate this careful attitude to each and every of his gestures and spells. This behavious is born, not like the most rash of our colleagues mistakenly believes, into a intrinsic fear of using all the tools at our disposal to oppose Chaos and all the hateful enemies of our proud race, but, and this must always been kept in mind, by a costant awareness that, even if mortal hands and minds are capable of trasforming and armonizing the dissonant energies of Chaos, still the clay that our hands have to mold comes from a most impure of source. With it, no matter the intentions and ability of the mage, impurity always comes, and a sliver of it is enough to damn the careless. As such, humility, careful, meticulous preparation and a continuous control of himself are the foundations of the one that aims to call himself True Master."

Morr detached his attention from the page with a thoughtful hum. If reading to him felt like jumping into deep water and lose himself into the swirling currents, returning to reality was like emerging again with a big gasp.

He munched upon the words he had read with a careful attention. Well, being careful sounded like obvious, expecially considering what he was dealing with, and well, who. Sill, repeating it was well enough, he supposed. He had to grudgingly agree with this egghead elf-thing.

Still, let's give a look to some spells, shall we?

He flipped the pages, jumping over exercises of focus, instructions over minor rites and boring philosophy lessons, until he reached the practical part. He had made sure, with a lot of relish, that that book had a lot to offer in regard to actual, practical spells.

Excitation mounting, he moved his eyes between a spell and the other, one page exclusively dedicated to each. The majority asked for particular items, rites or gestures to be performed, but a little group, the easiest, did not.

Eventually, Morr settled for one of the richly illustrated pages. A great, gem-like ball of light stood at the top, sourmunting a frame made-up by motives of golden threads that contained the well-ordained ranks of the letters. Morr squinted at the ball on top. Was that a gem? No, it just looked like. It was… painted? He wasn't sure…

Bah. Another elf-things's pretentious thing.

He turned to regard the text.

"Dancing lights…" he read. "…this spell can be useful in a number of situations yadda yadda yadda, where are the damned instructions?" He growled under his breath. "Oh, there they are!" He focused on the scripting. "Reach the state of blank mind prescribed under section 2. Now, under the supervision of a master, bring into your foremost thoughts your inner focus…"

Morr paused, frowning. His… inner focus?

"Take the utmost care that your inner focus…" he continued to read "…is completely formed before proceding. Ask instructions to your master and, if necessary, allow him to review it. Once that you're sure, and only then, focus your conscience upon the inner focus. Keeping it stable, make sure of creating a pattern of images that calls back to whatever image, phrase, thought, smell, sound or general sensation that, in your understanding, represent the concept of light. The most advisable form for this is to focus upon your immediate needs or most concrete situation, rather that abstract forms; meaning, its preferable to think about a torch inside of a cavern rather than the light of the stars. Next, you must set your images into a recurrent pattern. For this spell, a sequence of two is enough to accomplish. Read page 32 for instructions regarding mental patterns. Next…"

Morr lowered the book, feeling a bit dizzy.

Wait, inner focus? And what the heck was that supposed to be?

He flipped back the pages, reaching for the one in the instructions. He rapidly read, then scratched his head.

No inner focus. Not even a mention. It just talked about patterns of thoughts.

Frowning, he began to flip between the pages, searching for an explaination of that term, or at least a mention. He found only a couple, each sending back to masters or previous experiences and books. It looked like that book considered that inner focus, whatever it was, an obvious thing.

Disappointment flowed through him, his ears falling down.

"Aw, really?"

Another snag. It looked like there wasn't end to them. Well, he wasn't ready to give up, not even of a long shot. If that book didn't tell him what he needed, he just meant that he had to find it out for himself!

Emboldened by that thought, he closed the book. A little voice inside of his head whispered that, even then, it wasn't like that his first attempts into the world of magic had given good results, but he made a point of ignoring it. He would succed, without a doubt, no question about it.

Putting the book back at his place, his gaze fell upon the other.

He felt a little chill running down his back. With a bit of hesitation, he reached for it. Just a second before his paw touched it, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Nothing. No visions, no strange voices.

Sighing softly in relief, he grabbed the book and brought it over his lap. He handled it with care, reverential awe filling him as he did.

The Horned Rat. A gift from the Horned Rat himself.

Memories of mother's fables filled his mind, stories about the greateast of the Skaven, Father and God of Rat-kin, Lord of the Verminous Hordes. His mother had called him a caring figure that stood sentinel over his children, listening to their chittering and steering the worthy between them to salvation and success. The Gray Seer of Snoutdeep had called him the Gnawer at the Roots of Creation, the Master that allowed for nothing but success by his servants, whose the eternal hunger had to be constantly appeased, lest he devoured his own children. The only thing that the two versions had in common was the unquestionable belief that He existed and that pious worship was due to Him.

And always watched.

Intimidated, Morr passed a paw across the fur on his head. Well, to receive something from Him felt… intense, that was for sure. If only he could understand what it actually meant, and what it was expected from him…

His thoughts slipped to the terrible idol that had faced him, down into the darkness.

He swallowed.

Chittering softly, he opened the book.

The pages were rough, thick and yellowed with age, and they creaked softly as he cautiously flipped over what he had already read.

After the introduction, he found a page tight with scripture, the letters clearly marked by the claw of a wise skaven. He timidly smiled at that. No need for arrogant pictures and eye-hurting colors. Straight to business. That was how it had to be.

The only actual decoration was the painted image of a rat on the bottom of the page, caught in the moment of rasing up from a nestled position, his red eyes pointed toward the reader. It was so life-like, though, that Morr had to blink once before realizing that there wasn't actual life beyond those little beady eyes.

Feeling a bit unsure, he began to read.

"A tale is told of two Skaven, birthkin from the same breeder."

He paused, wonder filling him. It was a… tale?

Now curious, he returned to read.

"A tale is told of two Skaven, birthkin from the same breeder. While scouting the woods above their home, they encountered a ravenous Minotaur. Wisely, they fled the beast, but it gave chase and pursued them for many miles. "Surely," said the first Skaven, panting, "we cannot-cannot outrun this horrible creature." The second chittered his agreement. "Nor do we have to," he replied. Unsure of his birthkin's motive, the first Skaven asked, "What do you mean?". By way of response, the second Skaven tripped his companion, answering, "I-I only need to outrun you!""

Morr stopped reading, freezing. That… that was the tale? But… but… his brother wouldn't ever… he wouldn't ever…

He was still struggling with his thoughts, when he noticed once again the rat-like painting staring at him.

He blinked. This time, the life that he though of seeing beyond those eyes didn't disappear.

It happened in an instant.

The rat darted out of the page, fast as a striking serpent, and, before Morr could even raise his voice, it sank his teeth into his paw.

Pain exploded into Morr's flesh, lancing through his arm like a lightning bolt. He squeaked, the book escaping from his grasp, and fell down on his back. He remained there, shuddering wildly as flashes of images wracked his mind. The floor disappeared from under his back, and he felt himself falling. A vortex of darkness and colours swirled around him, voices assaulting him in a chaotic cacophony of sounds. He tried to move, to regain control, but his mind was like a field riddled with holes, his thoughts running wildly in every direction like a swarm of scared rats. Numbness raised from his paw and along his arm, planting painful, tingling roots into his neck and head. Where it touched, he could feel his body starting to lose form, to melt into a sludge. As it raised along his head, even his confused thoughts started to lose shape, melting into a formless mass of sensations and impressions. For a moment long as a life, he wavered along the edge of the inconscience, his mind struggling to keep itself into a single piece, to remain in existence.

Then, something latched, somewhere far away, where his paw was supposed to be, and the numbness started to recede. Down his neck, his arm and then into his paw and out of him, it flowed away like a sea of mud draining down a cliff.

Slowly, his thoughts returned into focus and he could feel his body, even as weak as it was, and think straight once again.

"W-what happened?" He slurred. He felt like someone had used his head to try and break a hole through a wall.

"That's what i ask you-you."

Morr raised his head.

Gargant was kneeling at his side, a grim expression over his snout as he passed the back of a wrist over his mouth.

He turned his head and spat.

"I heard you-you squeak." He said. There wasn't severity into his tone. It was only him informing of something.

Feeling ripple of tingling running along the side of his head and arm, and his thoughts popping like bubbles, Morr nodded dazedly.

"What-what happened?"

"I…"

"Nah, forget it-it. Let's eat first."

Even as lightheaded as he was, Morr found himself whole-hearteadly agreeing.

They had set camp a good distance from the collapsed bridge. Following the sound of water had brought them to an open space, more like a landing between the seemingly endless corridors than an actual chamber, of which one wall gave way to a cavernous alcove. Inside of it, coming from a hole in the wall, a little stream came flowing with a soft sound, before disappearing into another wall. The floor of the landing ended into a little pier caressed by the stream. A small groups of channels carved into the smooth stone allowed the water to flow, ending into a bowl etched into the pier and filled with crystal-clear water. Morr had wondered why that strange workings. Maybe, it was a way for some kind of reservoir? But then, why it didn't overflow? Gargant had just shrugged, getting instead to work to fill their pouches again. The water looked clean, but you never couldn't be sure with subterranean streams. Or, at least, when you could afford afford yourserlf doubts like those. With their very limited water supply, they couldn't, and it sounded right enough for the elf-things to build close to a river that was safe to drink.

Thankfully, so it was, and water had been erased from the list of things they could had possibly need into the immediate future. The position wasn't very defensibile, but that was that.

Now, Gargant helped his brother to sit before the little fire he had already prepared using the white little sticks of the elf-things.

As Morr tightened one of the few spare blankets they had around himself and focused on stopping the shakings, Gargant rustled inside of his big backpack. After a moment of searching, the black-fur handed him a handful of the grainy stuff that he had looted from the ruins.

"Starting to run out of this-this." He murmured.

Morr said nothing and accepted the stuff. He really wasn't in the mood of thinking about food shortage, not in that moment.

He noticed a ripple of hesitation before his brother handed him a little pice of cheese too.

Moor took it without a word, stealing a glance at the black-fur's face.

Unflappable and unpenetrable as always, and still… there was something in his gestures, in the way that he leaned just a little bit toward him, that made spark something warm inside Morr's chest.

His brother…

"Thanks, yes-yes."

Gargant nodded stiffly, then turned to regard the fire. To Morr's understanding, it looked perfect, but nobody would have been able to say it, judging from the attention of the blackfur upon it. For some reason, despite still feeling deeply shaken, seeing his brother doing that made him want to chuckle.

Wisely, he opted to not.

As Gargant busied himself, he ate in silence, focusing into thoroughly crunching the grains to squeeze out that vague bit of fruity taste. He still wondered what it was. Maybe, if he tasted it enough times, he could find an answer.

After a time, when everything was gulped down and well-watered with a big gulp of water, Morr sighed with relief. Nothing like a good meal to get your morale back up. He didn't feel great, but surely he felt a little better.

Almost as feeling it, Gargant, sitting across him with his legs sprawled before him and his arms sustaining him from behind, shot him a quizzical look.

Morr rubbed his shoulder, trying to find the words. He could still feel a bit of tingly feeling across his skin.

Gargant spoke before him.

"You had a bite mark on your paw-paw." He observed. "Poison. Had to suck it-it out."

Morr closed the mouth he had opened to speak. He raised his paw and watched it. On the palm and under it, just under the point where the thumb connected with the paw, the fur disappeared into a ragged bald patch, like something had just mauled it clean. The marks of incisors were clearly visibile at the center, and the skin all around was of a reddish purple. It throbbed slowly.

Morr swallowed.

Gargant was watching him, patiently waiting for an answer.

Clutching his paw to his chest, he told him what had happened.

This time, saying it didn't help him to feel better; instead, it just made things worse. Made them feel worse.

"Well," Gargant said when he finished. "I were gone for-for, what? Fifteen minutes? And you managed to make-get Big Daddy angry." He grinned. "Not-not bad."

Morr glared at him. "It's not-not funny!" He protested.

Gargant shrugged.

"Any idea of why it happened?" He asked. Extending his legs, he started to flex his chest forward, pushing a paw toward a foot.

Morr was caught so much by surprise by that sudden movement, that for a moment just stared at him, wide-eyed, forgetting of his problems.

"Ehm, what-what are you doing?"

"Doing what-what?" Gargant asked back, alternating between a paw and the other.

"That! That things you are doing!"

"Oh, this? I-i am exercising."

Morr felt dizzy for a moment.

"B-but…"

"But what?"

"But, we were talking-squeaking and…"

"We're still doing it, yes-yes." He grunted as something creaked into his back. "Need only the mouth to do that-that."

Completely taken aback, Morr watched him dumbly.

"Well? Still asking here-here. Any idea?"

Morr blinked, rememering the matter at hand. He shook his head. His brother, sometimes…

"W-well…" He stuttered. "I-i am not precisely sure, yes-yes."

"You-you read the book?"

"Well, yes."

"Done something strange with that?"

"Well…" Morr lowered his eyes. Truth was he had a pretty good hunch what had happened. A punition, from the Horned Rat for him not agreeing with a lesson that was being imparted to him. Still, he was ashamed of admitting it, even to his brother. And pretty scared too. That extent of power, the thought that He was watching him and had reached out to touch him… was enough to terrify him on a primal level.

Gargant waited patiently for him to keep talking. When the silence started to stretch, he jumped at his feet.

"Well-well, it happened." He observed. He grinned. "Let's not make it-it happen again, alright?"

Morr watched him for a moment, surprised. Then, he made a weak grin of his own.

"Yes-yes!" He nodded.

Gargant nodded, then began to flex again, standing up and reaching for feet with his paws.

Morr watched him exercise, his previous grim thoughts a little less grim.

His brother…

A little emboldened, he clutched his paws to his chest. Yes, maybe he had attracted some kind of reproach from the Horned Rat, he shivered at the thought, but that meant only that he had to work more to compensate for his failings. Yes!

Alright, maybe, maybe he didn't feel as strongly for that tale as he should have, but, but, he was faithful, incredibly faithful! Absolutely faithful! And that was what mattered, right?

Morr restlessly fidgeted with those thoughts for a few moments, before throwing the blanket aside.

Gargant shot him a quizzical glance, but he ignored it as he went for his backpack. He rustled in it for a moment, frowning, before remembering with a gasp: his idol! It had remained into his old den!

His ears fell down. How the heck was he supposed to venerate the Horned One without an image of Him? And, heck, he needed to do that! Like, fast!

He fidgeted around, searching for another solution.

He found it into the ash that had accumulated under their little fire. Using one of the stick still to burn, he scooped up a bit, making sure of throroughly blackening one of the extremities of the white combustible.

Clutching it, he wobbled toward the cavernous alcove. There, he leaned over the little stream and pushed the stick against the rocky wall. With no effect. It was too much wet from the dampness rising from the water.

He returned to the fire to take another scoop, before going to another wall, this one smooth and well-worked.

He regarded it for a moment, frowning in concentration, before pushing the stick against the stone.

He was thrilled from seeing the black smudge it left.

Excited, he started to scribble, occasionally returning to the fireplace to get more ash. Eventually, when he stepped back from the wall, smiling muzzle stained with ash, he took a good look to his creation.

A great, skaven-sized triangle mark, formed by three, thick jagged lines, stained now the wall.

Morr felt a rush of pride just by looking at it. And he had done it by defacing an elf-things' work too! Just what the Horned Rat would approve of!

"Looks a bit wonky, yes-yes." Gargant noticed, standing beside him.

Morr started. He hadn't heard his brother get closer.

"No, it's not." He protested, frowning. "It's perfect, yes-yes."

Gargant watched him, then the glyph. Then shrugged.

Morr was about to give him a piece of mind, but decided against it. Not the moment for squabble. that one. He had to get going with trying to make the Horned Rat forgive his slight.

He cleared his throat, and stole a glance to Gargant, that was contemplating the emblem.

"Do you-you want to begin or i do?"

Gargant raised an eyebrow to him, impassive.

"To do what-what?"

Morr had to repress the instinct of smacking a paw against the snout.

"To do…" He said slowly, gesturing with exasperation to the glyph. "…the prayers to the Horned Rat, yes-yes. You want to start or want me to do it-it?"

He expected anything, anything!, but the answer that Gargant gave him.

"I don't pray to the Horned Rat, yes-yes."

Something in Morr's brain just… fizzled.

"Ehm, what?"

Gargant crossed his arms before his chest, regarding him impassively. "What i said, yes-yes." He said, nodding. "I-i don't pray to the Horned Rat. I don't believe in him."

"B-but… but…!"

Morr gesticulated wildly, a thousand objections, one of which was start to scream, trying to push their way through his throat at the same time, and none managing to.

"Y-you cannot not believe into the Horned Rat!" He squeaked eventually.

"Why not?"

"W-well…" Morr's brain ran for words, still trying to register that there could be a Skaven that didn't believe into the Horned Rat, and that skaven had to be his brother of everybody else. "He exists!" He squeaked. It felt like it was the time for lame expressions for him, but, hey, he felt justified.

"That i know." Gargant nodded. "So?"

"And… and he's a God!"

"That i know too. Still unconvinced."

"But… he's a God!"

"It just means that he's big-strong." Gargant shrugged. "Might as well worship Kabrik too, then."

"I-it's not the same!" Morr protested. "It's not just him being strong. He… he's a God, for my whiskers' sake! A God! He's the one calling all the shots! T-the one deciding!"

"That's just what the Grey Seers say-squeak." Gargant replied quietly. A somewhat ironic smirk appeared over his snout. "We're still here, though. Scraping in the mud. All-all that world-conquest thing doesn't seem to be pullig through, yes-yes."

"That's not…" Morr stopped, and took a small breath, trying to calm himself. "Listen. You-you can't just say that about the Horned Rat. He will listen! He's always listening! I-i know!" He thought back to the rat jumping out of the book, and a cold weight settled into his gut.

"I am-am still here." Gargant replied, matter-of-factly. "Not getting hit by a warplightning yet. And it had always been like this for me-me."

Morr pointed a trembling finger aginst him.

"You… you heretic!" He managed to squeeze out, completely at loss of words for that, that unforgivable lack of respect.

Gargant said nothing, turning instead to regard the gliph over the wall.

Morr raked his brain for something else to say. He couldn't let that thing drop, he just couldn't, not like that.

"He… he…" Realization hit him. "He made us-us, yes-yes!" He exclaimed, triumph into his voice. "He made us-us. He's our Father, yes-yes! That's why we must worship him! Thank him! Thank him for the life he gave us-us." He glared smugly at Gargant, challenging to come back

The black-fur managed to defy his expectations once again, this time with the flash of pain that traversed his features.

"No." He murmured. "He hasn't given us life, no. He has given us-us this life, yes-yes. It's different."

He mphed, and gave his back to both Morr and the emblem painted over the wall.

"Do your thing quickly." He said. "The least we linger in this place, the better."

And, without another word, he marched off toward their little camp.

Speechless, Morr watched him go for a moment, before turning back to the glyph.

A skaven that didn't believe to the Horned Rat… no, he did believe, He existed after all, it was obvious. Gargant just… he just didn't bow to Him.

It was… ridiculous, foolish, crazy, suicidal, stupid, idiotic and… And…

Morr clenched his jaw, anger and frustration flaring up. How… how could he be so stupid! How?

You had to worship the Horned Rat! Pray to Him! Appease Him! Beseech Him for His favour! It was from Him that their good luck came from, from Him that their success could only come from! Defying Him was akin to suicide, refuse Him of his worship was… was…

Morr hissed softly. Stupid, stupid Gargant! With his foolishness, he brought danger to him too!

And still…

 _Being brothers. Could it be worth something?_

He had returned! Curse him, he had returned! And, well, there was something to tie them together, he could feel it as surely as he could feel his own tail.

He blushed to remember how he had shown himself weak before Gargant, again and again, and still he remembered the little party they had their first meeting, the way he had helped him, how he had saved his life. It sparked a warmth into his chest that he just couldn't deny, not anymore.

"Ah, to hell with it!" He snarled.

Mind set, he fell to his knees before the glyph, abasing himself before the symbol of his all-seeing God.

If Gargant was too thickheaded to understand what it had to be done, it only meant that he had to be pious enough for both. Yes! He would make the Horned Rat so happy and proud, that not only He would overlook Gargant's heretic views, He would make rains His gifts upon them both too. And then, with time, he would make his brother come to see the errors of his way and make him repent. He would have brought the wound that now adorned his paw as the symbol of that oath to himself and to his God! Yes! Yes!

Because he found himself to care for his brother, care for him like he was a limb, like he was the half of his own life.

Not skaveny! Not skaveny at all, curses!

Unwilling to bear those thought any longer, he thrust his mind into prayer and devotion, something that he was very accostumed to do, and stared to mumble the prayers that he had thoroughly taught himself to learn and remember.

He was just starting to focus, when Gargant called him.

"Ehi, blo."

"What now-now?" He asked, irritated. Wait, had he just said "blo"?

"Take you time with youl thing."

"Ehm, why?"

"Youl stupid poison made my tongue go numb."

For a moment, Morr was uncertain if squeak in fright or just start to cackle histerically.

He went for the second.


	16. Chapter 16

Packing the little that they had required more thinking about it than actually doing it. Before of actually going, Morr entertained the thought of leaving their packs there, since they would be with all likelihood be returning there to resupply in water, but he discarded the idea quickly, with Gargant's grunted approvation. That place was simply too dangerous to let supplies hanging around, no matter how unconsequential they were. Better to bear additional weight than to risk having one of those ghost-things arrive and swoop away their things.

And then, it wasn't even sure that they would be able to return there in the first place. None of the two doubted that that part of the ruins would have been as much as a labyrinth as the previous one, -Stupid elf-things, always liked to make things difficult, them -, and they would need more than one foray to actually get a good understanding of the layout of the place.

As they went, Morr tried to leave ash marks over the walls, while Gargant took care of leaving musk stains every so often. Both did so with little reassurance, though, as they both had had experience with the dead-things' strange tendence to keep those place spotless.

"You-you mean that what happened to me-me is what alias happen?" Morr asked as they stalked their way through a serpentine corridor. He remembered how the, more than pleasant, defacements he had done to a fresco of the hated elf-things had disappeared before his very eyes.

Gargant shot a withering glance his way, and Morr felt the need of half wanting to roll his eyes and half to flinch.

He repeated the same question with a hushed tone.

The black-fur nodded.

"I have tried much-many times to make-make changes to the ruins, yes-yes." He explained. "Tried to mark the paintings-colours and move the bodies-dead, but everytime they would return to the way they were before, yes-yes."

Defacing and ruining things built by others was a natural instinct engrained in them from the moment they were born, as it was the joy they derived from it, so none of the two felt the need to bring it up.

Instead, Morr though about the words of his brother. "So… even the things i have moved- searched, by now they would as they were?" He thought about his foray alone, and the bodies he had scavenged.

"With all likelihood, yes-yes."

"But… why?"

Gargant shrugged, his eyes fixed on the path forward.

"Dead-things are strange things." He mumbled. "Death breaks everything and toss you-you on the other side. If you resist, you don't come out with only one piece less. And broken things' mind don't work as they did anymore, yes-yes."

Morr thought about those words' implications for a moment, and he felt unease ripple through him.

"You-you know a lot of things, brother, yes-yes." He commented, both out of curiosity, and to change subject.

Gargant didn't turn around.

"I know enough." He replied laconically, then: "Are you-you afraid?"

Morr was a bit taken aback by that question, and thought about it.

"Not as-as much as before, yes-yes." He said in the end.

"How so?" There was the smallest glimmer of curiosity in Gargant's voice. Morr found himself a little happy with it.

"I think that, well…" Morr searched for the right words. "…before it was a thing i had no idea about, yes-yes. Like a cavern collapsing, or, or like Kabrik. Couldn't do nothing about it-it. Now-now, it felt more like a material thing, something we can touch and understand. yes-yes."

Of course, the thought of coming again before those things screaming in his ears didn't appeal at him, like at all, and a big part of his newfound confidence came from the fact of having Gargant there with him. But there wasn't need to say that, right?

"Actually, it starts to get interesting, yes-yes." He added, tentatively.

Gargant snorted.

"Interesting, eh?" He asked. "These things are more dangerous than a cave-in. Nothing of good-good can come out of them, so don't start to get strange ideas-ideas."

"Maybe it will stay away if we don't disturb it?" Morr proposed. He really wanted to believe that.

Gargant dashed his hopes fast.

"Don't get you hoped up-up." He warned. "From what i have seen-smelled, this is the kind of dead-thing that latches on a place and don't let it go. For that type, the place has to remain deserted and untouched, and they get angry if anybody enter-scuttle inside, since it changes what it must remain unchanged."

Morr scratched his ear. What, he liked to unnerve him or what? He was trying to remain optimistic here.

"Knowing enough is like knowing a lot-lot, eh, bro?" He asked nervously.

Gargant made a noncommittal sound.

"Enough talking-squeaking now." He said. "I-i am starting to hear the whispers-voices again."

That was enough to sweep away any other curiosity Morr had. He swallowed and nodded, not daring to utter another word.

"You-you make too much sound when you walk-scuttle." Gargant continued. "Look how i put my feet down, that's how you sneak. Look and do the same-same."

Morr had a half-idea of making his brother know what he thought of his sneaking nonsense, but, with ghost-things possibly close, he opted to keep his mouth shut for once. Gargant had reorganized the way he kept his backpack and books in a way that had eliminated the little sounds that the objects made as he walked around. He supposed that, on the basis of that positive result, he could cut his brother some slack.

Just this once.

* * *

 _Betrayers. Betrayers. Betrayers!_

Again they returned. Again they came, to despoil, to ruin everything.

Even in that moment, those of her people that inhabited the outer circles had to run away from them, escape from their unreasonable hate. The songs faded as they hid in the darkness, the works that they had painstangly built at risk of being found and destroyed.

She could see them, cowering in the shadows, trembling, hoping for death to not come to take them away, praying for salvation to come instead.

She would answer those prayers. She would save them.

And still, to her great shame and chagrin, she couldn't attack the betrayers, not head on. Their dark magic was too powerful for her to overcome and some unholy contraption born from their twisted intellect allowed them to hear her and her soldiers as they drew close or laid in ambush. She had managed to scatter them and their forces, but only thanks to their own barbarism as they clashed against each other, without a doubt unwilling to share the plunder from the halls of her people.

 _Barbarians. Savages. Betrayers._

And still, there was a lesson in that, and maybe an opportunity.

Yes, she could see it.

If she couldn't get close, she would use the barbarians against the despoilers. She would unleash the blight against the blight, make them clash one against the other so that they would weaken each other, and then, and then she would come and swap the plate clean from the crumbs that remained.

Such a dishonorable tactic, unworthy of her lineage, but pride didn't win wars. After the victory, she would submit to any punishment her people would decide, but for now, she couldn't allow for her personal thoughts to interfere.

It was time for the bones to start dancing.

* * *

First, bend slightly you knees, so that your point of gravity is a bit lower and your stance gets more solid. Then, put all your body weight on a leg. Done that, push forward your other leg. Put down the tip of your foot, starting from the outer side of the foot, then put down the rest, slowly. Repeat, always watching where you put your feet.

Thanks to the example provided from his brother, as well as his gruff instructions, Morr picked up quickly the basis of how to sneak around quietly, as well as the fact that he hated sneaking around quietly. First of all, it was so slow that he could feel himself get older as he did it, and it wasn't a good sensation, especially since the constant focus he needed to keep the gait wasn't helping him to keep his mind out from the unnerving silence that seemed to always enshroud that blasted place, as well his own anxiety. Did he already say that he hated the elf-things and all the stupid things they built? Because he really really did! Secondly, after a while of doing it, his knees and tight had started to ache. And it wasn't like that he didn't train or work out!

"You didn't do enough." Was Gargant's laconic reply at that comment, and Morr thought that, yes, his brother sometimes really deserved a good smack on the mouth. He was lucky that they had ghost-things in the immediate nearness, or he would have got what he deserved, the impudent smartass. Well, that and the fact that Gargant was a lot taller and bulkier than him, but that was another story.

The only thing that managed to keep his attention up was the challenge of all of it. He sure as hell wasn't ready to give Gargant another chance to lecture him, and sure as hell he wasn't ready to let something so basic push him back. He could take lessons from a Master Eshin and pick up everything in a whiff, and that was the truth!

And, finally, it was sure as hell that he wasn't letting his attention wander off again. As he mantained the silent step as better as he could, his eyes moved every so often to scan the sorroundings, so that any change wouldn't get him unprepared again. Not that it was worth the effort, since that place seemed bent on remaining a strange-looking maze of walls traversed by lines.

Ack, they were so annoying to look at!

Too bad that, between his attention so focused on two thing, Morr didn't keep it over his own brother.

So, when Gargant slowed and raised a fist in a sign that meant stop, before stopping, Morr not only didn't notice it, but kept on walking and smacked his nose straight against whatever filled his brother's bulk backpack.

"Ouch! What the heck!" Morr squeaked, paws grasping his poor beaten snout.

Any protest died on his tongue as Gargant turned to regard him with a don't-be-stupid look.

"What?" He asked, massagging irritated his nose. He was starting to think that the universe had something personal against his poor face.

Gargant rolled his eyes, but don't replied. Instead, he gestured for his ears.

"Cannot hear the whispers-murmurs anymore." He said.

Morr narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe we let it-it behind us?" His previous hope of passing the ghost-things without getting a retaliation flared back to life.

"Probably not."

"Ack, you're so pessimistic!"

Gargant didn't answer; instead, he sniffed a couple of times.

"There's something in the air…" He mumbled, looking like he was talking to himself. "I don't like it."

"Peeeessimistic!"

Morr could see the sigh shaking his brother's shoulder. Truth was, he really hoped that those ghost-things had let them be. Was it so wrong?

"Stay sharp." Gargant said in the end, and, like to emphasize, he turned just enough to regard him with one eye.

Morr nodded anxiously at his brother's intense gaze. The black-fur seemed to radiate a vibe of seriousness, firmness and in general of knowing what he was doing that he found himself short of words for arguing. He wasn't the type to just follow, but if he thought back to those voices… well, enough to say that his propensity to let the tongue work went quickly down the drain, together with all the moisture inside of his mouth.

Still, just before he turned around, he saw a glint of amusement spark into Gargant's eye.

And for some reason that was enough to make him bristle.

"What? What was that?"

"What?

"You know it-it! You're thinking something about me-me!"

"I don't know what you're talking-squeaking about."

"You know it! Tell-squeak it to me!"

Gargant let out a small chitter of amusement.

"This time you-you didn't say that me hearing murmurs-whispers is a lie." He said.

Morr freezed. He watched his brother's back, then blinked, then sheepeshly averted his eyes.

"Stupid. Still thinking about that-that?" He asked awkwardly, kicking the floor.

"Eh!" Gargant let out, and, without adding another word, kept on going.

Morr followed him, eyes downcast. Truth was, it cost him much to admit that Gargant knew how to do something that he desperately wanted to do. He made him feel two times worse thinking about it. Still, it was no fair. It was the only thing that could actually help them in that moment. How the heck was he supposed to negate that existed? He had just went with it without thinking!

No fair!

"Seriously now, stay sharp. Everything could happen."

Even while he grumbled against the unfairness of the world, Morr nodded and didn't bring the argument back.

For a while, they marched, with only their steps to disturb the silence.

After a while, the corridor started to rise in a soft ascent. Morr was curious as to why for such building, but kept his thoughts for himself. At least they were going up.

"Any idea how much deep we-we are?"

"Nope."

"Aw, crap. I hate this place."

"Mph."

There was place for grim thoughts about their chances, but strangely Morr didn't find them take hold in his mind. Maybe it was because they had still plenty of energy and food and water, maybe it was just that he was used to danger, or maybe because Gargant was with him, or maybe because a bit of the impassibility of the black-fur had rubbed off him.

Who knew.

Eyes and ears open, they trudged on.

They met many branching paths, not straight as one could expect from a settlement built by the hatefully ordered elf-things, but strangely oblique, like as the builders were drunk when they had decided the layout or something. The thought of pretty elves armed with filled pints and compasses made Morr snicker. Well, it surely was more appealing to his aesthetic senses, so it was good.

In other occasions, all those paths would have discouraged him, but since their only clue to follow was the sound of water, the problem didn't exist.

They both had agreed, before starting their foray, that they would follow it as much as possible. The hope of finding another source was vague, but it was better than nothing. Truth was, Morr suspected that his brother was following something more than just that, but evidently the black-fur didn't consider necessary to share it and he wasn't in the mood to press for it.

He hoped he was right.

As they went, they took a few turns, always making sure of keeping an ear open and stopping every so often to mark the walls.

To Morr's great shame and irritation, it wasn't much that he completely lost the sense of direction. He had to rely on Gargant, that, on the opposite, seemed to take turn after turn without having the whiff of a trouble. Morr found himself hoping more and more that that was the actual case, and vaguely wondered when and how had happened that the role of guide had fallen upon his brother.

After a while, just as he was about to overcome the bashfulness of having to ask, his whiskers picked up a change in the air.

Curious, he sniffed. It was… yes! It felt like the moisture in the air was growing!

He exchanged a knowing glance with Gargant.

As they continued, further signs of presence of water started to appear. The air, from musty and stale as it was, became more and more filled with humidity, and ever-growing patches of mould started to appear on the wall. Morr even noticed a little patch of fungi growing by a side, but Gargant warned him to not touch them.

The sound of water became stronger and stronger, and, eventually, they arrived to a corner, and stopped.

They could hear voices coming from beyond.

Gargant turned to give his brother a warning look. Morr swallowed, and tightened his grip over the mace, then nodded. Whatever there was further, he was ready for it.

Carefully, they peeked around the corner.

Before them, the elven-made corridor twisted its way forward. At one point, maybe by the action of water maybe by the simple passage of time, one of his walls had given out, exposing a large, cavernous space beyond it, rubble strewn in and out of the corridor the only thing remaining of it. The cavern proper was traversed by a fast-flowing stream coursing though a ditch, the rocks and rubble laid inside of it making its current loud. Beyond it, a fluorescent carpet of mushrooms of all kind - slim stalks, stocky fungi and many more forms - covered the wet rocks forming ceiling and walls. The moisture in the air was thick enough to make Morr feel like someone had draped a wet cloth over his fur, but that wasn't what it kept his startled attention. To do it, it was the thick group of little humanoids draped in black garments that stood between the fungi. Mumbling and babbling, cackling and screeching, they noisily busied themselves with harvesting the mushrooms, waving rusty knifes in the air as much as they used them for their shoddy work. Cowls of the same color of their garments, all ending in points, covered their heads, but Morr could make out all the same green, rough features surmonted by big, bulbous noses. Beyond them, a hole opened in the wall of the carvern, leading to a crude-looking tunnel. Standing before it, a burly specimen of the same race of the noisy buggers kept his arms crossed before his chest, a crude spear leaning against his shoulder. This one, instead of speaking, left his grim gaze slowly pass across the group, surveilling their work. Awry-looking baskets stood at his feet, each already half-filled with already harvested fungi.

Morr's first thought was of wonder: those were green-things! Goblins! He remembered them from tales heard from his mother and from visitors to the warren. In particular, he remembered of a old clanrat, came to his stand to spend his meagre saving in a few trinkets. He hadn't been kind in describing the green-things, but after all none from what he had heard had. Everybody, even his mother, seemed almost to compete about who could deprecate them the most.

The second thought was of hatred. Stupid green-things, how dared they stand in the underworld, the rightful realm of the Skaven? Ack, contamination! Heresy!

He shot a glance at his brother, seeing the same hatred reflected in his eyes.

Together, they drew back from the corner.

"Do you-you know what those things are?" Gargant asked when they were far enough to whisper without danger of being listened.

Morr knew it wasn't a real question, but a way to confirm that he actually knew, and felt offended.

He put his paws on his sides, staring challengingly at his brother.

"As a matter of fact, i know-know." He said, making a point of sounding as petulant as possible. What, do he believed that he didn't listen? He raised three fingers. "Goblins." He counted. "Night Goblins. Green-things." He gave his brother a satisfied smile.

Gargant rolled his eyes, but didn't picked up the provocation.

"Good-good." He said. "Then you know that if there are a few green-things, it-it means that a lot of green-things aren't very far."

Morr nodded. He remembered that as well.

"We have to sneak past, yes-yes. Pass unseen." He said. "We-we cannot lose the trail of water, yes-yes."

Gargant nodded.

"Let's wait for them to go away, yes-yes." He said. "Then we'll sneak."

Agreed on that plane, they made to return to the corner. They gave a quick peek and, seeing how the green-things seemed set for the moment, they decided to go to the next corridor to sit and wait.

"Ehi, bro." Morr whispered as they went.

"What?"

"Why you-you think those green-things are here?"

"They live here. Like us-us."

"Yes, i know that. I was wondering how they entered here-here in the ruins. And then, why here of all the ruins of the elf-things is all broken? Why not the rest too-too?"

"Dunno. Don't care."

"…that's your answer."

"Yep."

"You could have said-squeaked magic."

"Alright, then it's magic."

"No fair now-now."

"Then take the first."

"You don't care too much-much."

"And you talk too much-much."

"Not true!"

"…"

"Oh, oh! I just thought of something!"

"Mh?"

"If those green-things are here-here… maybe they know of an exit too?"

"It can even be, yes."

"Oh!"

"But, they probably keep it-it under control, and we should kill-kill them all to pass. And you-you know how many…"

"… how many green-things are in one place, ye-ye. I thought about it while you were speaking-squeaking. And then, those green-things might even not have an exit. They live underground like us- us. Ack, no fair!"

"Eh."

"No fair at-at all! I-i mean, this place is Skaven! Those green-things are invaders and thieves!"

"Us too."

"Yeah, but we were here-here first!"

"Not-not here."

"Hey, all the ruins count!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes!"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Bro?"

"What?"

"What you-you would do against those green-things if, let's say-squeak, you should kill-kill a bunch of them?"

"You really talk-squeak too much, you know that, right?"

"Come on, they can't hear us-us from there! Answer me-me!"

"Listen, we really should be silent…"

"But…"

"Morr."

"Okay…"

"Good."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"Ack, so boring! I-i can't do it!"

Gargant was about to sigh, when a chorus of high-pitched screams exploded in the distance.

Morr freezed, the fur on his neck standing on end. He exchanged a glance with Gargant, that nodded, serious. The tense resolution emanated by the black-fur gave him strenght and he nodded on turn.

Carefully, they made their way down the corridor again, and peeked around the corner.

The raucous mushroom gathering had devolved into chaos. Morr almost jumped out of his skin at seeing the goblins battling with skeletons that moved on their own.

The small greenskins screeched and swirled wildly their rusty knives, but their enemies seemed barely to register their blows. Eerily silent, the skeletons moved stiffly, raising and lowering rust-encrusted weapons. As one, they pushed against the hole in the wall of the cavern, spitefully defended by a pocket of goblins armed with crocked spears. The burly overseer of earlier commanded them and, as Morr watched, the goblin smacked a skeleton on the head with his spear. The skull exploded, hastily followed by the rest of the undead and by the fragments of the greenskin's weapon. Snarling, the goblin unsheated a long knife, just barely less worn of those of his brethren, and barked an order beyond his shoulder. The goblins at his sides raised a squealing scream and closed ranks against the undead.

Still, despite the defiance of the overseer and of his group, the battle was going bad for the greenskins. Already a big group of goblins, thrown away the weapons, was trying to escape across the river. A group of skeletons pressed on them, and the greenskins squealed in fear, pushing and trampling each other in their hurry to escape.

Startled, Morr watched his brother.

Gargant wore a serious expression as he observed the situation.

"Let's get us out of here-here." He said.

Morr couldn't agree more with it.

They were just about to move, when a gargling roar resounded across the cavern, making them freeze.

Morr snapped around to watch, just in time to see a rotund shape explode out of the hole in the wall, soaring above the defending goblins and smashing between the skeletons with a rumble of broken bones.

The thing, because that was the only way that Morr found he could call it, was a compact ball of tough-looking flesh and muscles. A massive mouth fraught with teeth covered almost the entirety of its rotund body, surmounted by two little eyes full of malicious hunger. Two sinewy legs sustained the body of the creature, ending in wicked talons.

As Morr watched it, gaping, the creature picked up his legs and jumped again. It landed straight in the middle of the skeletons, crushing one into splinters. Sword blows fell upon the creature, that jumped again, a gurgling roar erupting from its maw. It started to run as soon as it touched ground again. The burly goblin cursed something, and Morr blinked. The creature… it was running toward them!

Morr took a step backward, his gaze locked upon the escaping goblins jumping aside to avoid being trampled to death. Squig, he thought vaguely, that what it was that thing. A Squig.

His brain started to work again a fraction of a second later, the awareness of needing to move finally kicking in. But, before he could make a step, a paw grabbed him by an arm and brutally yanked him aside.

Morr squeaked as he lost his balance and fell forward. He ended smacking against the opposite wall, a thud from bodies colliding and a blood-curling roar echoing in his ears. His eyes swirling by the fall and the smack, he remained strewn down like a carpet for a couple of moments, trying to regain his bearings, his heart hammering in his chest. As the dizziness receded, he picked himself up. Thankfully, he noticed with relief, he had kept his hold over the mace.

He raised his head, and freezed.

The goblins were watching him.

All the goblins that had passed the river, and even a few still in the water, had stopped and now were watching him, red eyes wide.

Slowly, one of the goblin raised a trembling finger toward him.

"Rattaz!" He squealed.

"Rattaz!" Said another.

"Rattaz!" Made echo a third.

Soon, all the goblins were pointing and screaming wildly, someone even swirling his skinny arms above their heads as they did.

Feeling a cold weight settling in his gut, Morr stepped back, raising the mace in an gesture of instinct.

His mind was racing for something to do, when a shape darted a hairbreath from his ear. Morr started, and watched the thing that had been thrown before him.

The Squig, thick, black blood flowing out from multiple, deep wounds, stared at him with glazed eyes, somehow managing to look menacing and hateful even after death.

Morr stepped back, cold fear gripping his heart, then turned, just as Gargant stepped past him.

The black-fur craned his neck first to the right, then to the left, then spat on the ground. The knife that he brandished was smeared with black blood.

He stood before the goblin, and hissed.

The goblins, that had fallen silent at seeing the corpse, took a shuddering step back.

For a moment, it seemed that they would just turn tail and ran. Then, a squeal resounded. The burly overseer charged across the river and against the black-fur.

"Rattaz! Rattaz! Kill'em! Kill'em!" He squealed with his high-pitched voice.

Morr noticed with dismay that the skeletons had all disappeared. He tightened his grip over his mace, just as the frenzy of the burly goblin raised to encompass all the others. Instantly, from despair-filled fuggitive, they exploded into squeal of war and violence, and charged.

Morr squeaked, and jumped at his brother's side.

Gargant didn't even aknowledged him, all his attention on the coming goblins.

The first to reach them were a couple of fugitives, their only weapons their own teeth and crooked nails. Morr clenched his fist and raised his mace. He barely registered the whimper of the one that had attacked Gargant, as the black-fur simply stepped forward and slided the knife in his eye.

His eyes were all for the second , the one aiming at him. Time seemed to slow and, for a moment, he felt everything with utter clarity. The smooth wood against his fingers, the tension of his muscles ready to strike, his heart hammering in his throat, the knot clenching his gut, the fire raging in his chest. And then, the swift scampering of the green-thing, the crooked, yellow teeth of his blood-hungry smile, his beady eyes full of joyous violence.

Morr raised his mace, took aim, and, squeezing his eyes shut, swung with all his strenght. He felt the mace impacting against something hard, and vibrations rattling through his paws and arms, together with a crunching sound, then a squeal, then a thud.

He remained there, panting, and opened his eyes.

The goblin was down, blood pooling under him.

Morr watched him for a moment, briefly registering his first kill ever, before raising his eyes in search of Gargant.

The black-fur had stepped forward, shield and knife held with ease, other two corpse at his feet. The overseer reached him with full momentum and, howling loud and strong, jumped against him, his knife flashing in wild stabs.

Fluidly, Gargant parried once, sending the other's weapon swinging away, then stabbed forward and retracted his arm, fast as a striking serpent.

The goblin fell at his knees, a ragged hole where his eye stood before, whimpered once, then crumpled into a heap.

Gargant was already looking at the other goblins.

The death of their champion seemed to have snuffed out the mad fire that had fueled them and, after a moment of exchanged glances, they turned tail and ran away.

Gargant watched them go, not bothering to follow. Only when the last of the goblins had disappeared into the hole, and their steps had faded away, he actually turned to Morr.

"All ok?" He asked, like they had just ended a tranquil walking.

Morr was gaping at him.

Gargant raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Morr blinked, seeming to regain his wits only then. He rubbed his arm anxiously.

"Not too shabby, ehm…" He mumbled, and huffed, trying to regain a bit of calm. He had actually risked death. He felt his knees weak.

A little grin appeared on Gargant's snout.

"Eh." He looked at the body crumpled at his brother's feet. "You too, yes-yes."

For some unknown reason, Morr felt heat on his cheeks. He said nothing, though. Well, at least until his brother took him by surprise with a nice pat on his back.

Morr started with a squeak, and glared at him, but Gargant already gave him his back.

"Let's move, yes-yes." He said. "Let's get a drink and some meat from these runts."

Morr was about to protest, more out of habit than anything else, when he realized a thing.

"Ehm, bro?"

"Yes?"

"Are we in trouble now-now? I mean, now that the green-things know that we're here-here?"

"Totally, bro. But do not-not worry. We'll get though this too-too."

Morr was unsure if feeling comforted or not. He decided to drop the thing in favor of more practical matters.


	17. Chapter 17

Turned out that maybe Gargant had been a bit too optimistic with his assumptions, or, at least, that was what Morr thought.

"A-are they gone?" He stuttered, cautiously peeking up from the corner in which he had cowered.

Back against the wall, Gargant peeked into the branching corridor before answering, sniffing a couple of time.

"Yeah." He said.

Morr let out a sigh of relief. They had finally lost them. Again. And, sure enough, they would have them hot on their heels soon. Again.

"I am starting to-to think that you've been a bit too optimistic, bro." He commented bitterly.

"And you said-squeaked earlier that i was too pessimistic, yes-yes." Gargat replied without turning around.

Morr narrowed his eyes, trying to understand if he was being made fun of. It would have been easier to understand if only his brother would decide to use a different tone from serious-business-like for a change…

He shook his head, letting the matter fall.

"Weren't the green-things supposed to be stupid-idiots?" He asked tiredly. He remembered having heard them being called numbskulls at least two times every time the argument had come out in the warren. "These ones seem a little-bit too much good at tracking, yes-yes."

"It's strange, actually." Gargant hummed. "Their Squigs shouldn't be able to smell us, yes-yes."

Morr grimaced. Yeah, the vaunted method of his brother to let any pursuers in the dust; it involved a lot of goblin blood and other unmentionable materials and fluids and a lot of hatred for one's own fur. He wasn't going to be able to smell himself for a month, Morr was sure of it.

"How long it is that we are scampering around this place, anyway?" He asked, really hoping that his brother would pick up from his tone what he thought of his methods of stealth.

His hopes were dashed, as his brother, after a last round of surveilling, turned to him, impassive as always.

"A day, more or less." He replied.

Morr watched him suspiciously.

"And how are you-you supposed to know that?"

"I have paid attention."

There's wasnt a sniff of smugness in Gargant's tone, but Morr rolled his eyes all the same.

So, a day running around with those cursed green-things being able somehow to track their movements, no matter how much they made ther path as twisted and unpredictable as possibile. They had walked back to their previous camp, laying low for a few hours in the hope that the green-things would forget about them, but even that had mattered nothing.

As soon as they had retaken their explorations, they had to deal with patrols of goblins bent on finding them. Noisy and raucous as they were, it had been easy enough to avoid the most of them, but they had never managed to completely shake them off. Sometimes, they would hear their quick little steps muffled in the distance, other times they had to scamper quickly into another corridor, just moments before a too much silent for comfort band would come into sight. A couple of times, they had met lonely wandering goblins and Gargant had been quick to be the end of them - they had enough black, stained cloaks, dirty bandages and rusty daggers stuffed in their backpacks to build a tent with it -, but that didn't change nothing. Somehow, those goblins always managed to keep their trails, and with a fervor that clashed with what Morr had learned from them. Heck, it seemed that they were hell-bent on eradicating the "rattaz", even if there was only a couple of them. One would think that they would at least get scared by finding two of them in the dust…

Morr twitched his nose.

"Why does it feels like we're always being escaping from something in this stupid place-ruin, yes-yes?" He asked with irritation.

"Well, that's what it happened, yes-yes." Gargant said, but Morr didn't miss how the corner of his lips twitched a bit as he spoke.

"What?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"What what?"

"You know it-it. Just now. What was that?"

" …why you-you always ask this?"

"Are you-you mocking me?"

"Why should i?"

"I-i saw you lip twitching."

"…are you being serious right now-now?"

Morr crossed his arms, sulking. "I-i hate it when you do like that."

"Like… like what?" Gargant looked perplexed.

"Like that!" Morr pointed a finger against him. "With that face of yours! I-i cannot understand what are you-you thinking!"

Gargant watched him for a moment, then sighed in resignation.

"Let's move, shall we?" He said.

"I am tired!" Morr whined. "I want to-to rest!" After twirling around dipped in goblin blood for an entire day, he felt that he totally deserved it! And Gargant's attempt to change topic didn't mean anything!

"No whining." Gargant said, frowning sternly. He put his paws on his sides, looking Morr up and down. "If you're tired, i have just the right thing for you-you to do, yes-yes."

He grinned.

Morr felt that it was right for him to protest, but, for some reason, he managed only to swallow and nod.

* * *

Yep, he totally had to protest.

First of all, who said that Gargant was in charge? Theirs was a partnership, two rats gallantly making their way through an injust world, two pals, brothers, comrades in arms. Nobody decided because everybody decided, and that was why it worked. Conjoined thoughts, shared opinions, covering for each other's blindspots.

So, said that…

"Why must i be the bait?!" Morr screeched, feeling like, goblins be damned, it was very much in his right to be screeching right now.

Gargant seemed to have an uncanny attitude at making important, very important!, matters pass as very mundane tasks. As he crossed his arms before his chest and stared calmly at his sputtering brother, he didn't let down even that time.

"That's how it works…" He began.

"I-i don't care how it-it works! I am not doing it-it!"

Gargant ignored his outburst. "You do the bait here at the center of the corridor and i-i hide there behind the-the corner."

"No way! No! Never!"

"Goblins come. You ran, i jump out and kill-kill a couple of them, yes-yes. They get scared, they escape, i kill-slay another couple and we let the rest go."

"Not! No-no! No!

"They get scared, they leave us-us alone, and we escape-ran." Gargant arched an eyebrow. "Or then, i do the bait."

"Yes-yes, that's a good idea!"

"And you-you hide behind the corner."

"Yes! I'll do it-it!"

"And you jump out when they come behind me-me, and you kill-slay a couple."

"Ehm, i'll… ehm…"

"Then, you kill-kill another couple and send the other running, yes-yes."

Morr nervously rubbed his paws. That… that didn't sound like the most secure of the two roles. In fact, it was probably the opposite. Still, playing decoy? There was something as much as opposite to everything the Skaven were?

"Ehm…" He mumbled. "C-can we wait for more? Until they get tired, yes?"

Gargant shook his head. "Limited food. Limited water. We can't wait much-much. And judging how passionate these green-things look…" He left the rest of the phrase hanging.

Morr swallowed, flashes of a horrible ball of flesh and teeth bounding toward him passing through his mind.

"Y-you said…" He wanted to protest about the food, but, thinking back to it, Gargan hadn't been specific about how much they had yet. And he didn't want to think about it, not even close.

Shuddering slightly, he thought about what Gargant was proposing. Truth was, busy as they had to avoid the green-things patrol, they hadn't been able to advance of a step toward their goal of finding an exit. And, yes, they were on a time limit…

Furthermore… it was a bit that he had started to feel… strangely at unease, like something was out of place. Truth was, he had thought about it and, well, he had always counted upon himself to do what it was needed to survive. Now, with Gargant by his side… well, it felt like he had shifted back of a step. Oh, he was more than happy of having him, and he would have been a madrat to think otherwise. It was just… there was this itch, just on the back of his skull, that told him that there had to be something he could do, more than what he was doing now. Maybe it depended less from his brother and more from his experiments with magic, but…

He pushed back those thoughts. Gargant was watching him, patiently waiting for an answer.

"S-so." He began, sure that he would regret it. "I-i do the bait."

"Decoy." Gargant corrected him

"Ye ye." Morr licked his lips. "And you are just there? Close?"

"Absolutely."

Maybe he was him that was crazy, but the solemn seriousness with which Gargant spoke managed to lessen a bit the weight in his stomach.

"R-right." He said. "L-let's do this q-quickly then!" And, just to emphasize that he was brave and all, he gave himself a bump on the chest with a paw. A little too strong, but he felt that the flinch that he made was to forgive.

Still, he could be wrong, but, as he spoke those words, he was almost certain of seeing a something that could pass for amusement spark in his brother's eyes.

"Y-you're doing it again! W-what have you been thinking j-just now!"

"Eh, what a pain in the ass you-you are."

* * *

He was crazy for doing this. He was absolutely crazy, he was sure of it. Maybe it was the poison? The thing with the strange rat jumping out of the book and biting him? What if it was still in his blood? It could explain why in that moment he was actually in the middle of a blasted corridor, clutching a knife in his trembling paws and waiting for a patrol of green-things that his crazy brother and him had stalked on purpose to appear around the corner and see him. And with all likelihood trying to kill him.

Morr swallowed, feeling his matted fur already getting wet with sweat. Horned Rat, why? Why? Why?

"Ready?" His crazy brother, origin of his misfortunes and likely bringer of a contagion of craziness, called, already half-hidden behind the corner at the opposite end of the corridor.

Morr half-turned around, much more sane thoughts of fleeing swirling in his head already, and nodded shakily. Because he was obviously crazy. All that series of happenings had shaken his sanity and now he had finally taken the last step.

"Remember what we said-planned!" Gargant said. "When they see you, just scamper-run toward me. Don't stop for any reason, ok? And be careful to not-not trip! And don't worry, i am just right here-here. Just trust me-me!" And, as if it could change anything, he did a thumbs-up.

Morr had a half of an idea of telling him where he could put those thumbs, together with those reassurances that didn't manage to reassure him not even a bit, but decided that it was too crass of a thing to say.

"I-if this go-go wrong." He croaked. "I-i am not g-going to forgive y-you. N-never."

He wasn't sure if Gargant had heard him, but there wasn't more time for words, as the voices of the green-things were getting close.

Morr started, and snapped around, eyes darting between the corridor before him and his brother.

Gargant gave him a last nod, before disappearing beyond the corner.

"I-i am right here! Go!" He heard him say, and then nothing else.

For a moment, Morr had the most unpleasant sensation of deja-vu, but he pushed it back with all his might.

H-he could do this. His brother was there, close, just out of sight.

Trying to steady himself, he tightened the grip on the knife. It was a small weapon, but at least it was better than the blunt thing he had before. It gave him a small measure of comfort.

He focused on the sounds of the goblins coming close.

They were a noisy bunch, not caring or not managing to be stealthy, their high-pitched, rough voices rising and descending like whip-lashes. Morr couldn't under stand what they were saying, he understood only Queekish, but he had the impression that there was a sort of cadence to their tones. It was possibile that they were saying a chant of some kind? But why, though?

He wondered that only vaguely, his fear and anxiety rising more and more as the steps of the goblins came closer. Four, they were, two to be shanked immediately, another to be killed when they overcome the surprise, and the fourth to let go to bring the news to his kindred. All the patrols they had met had that kind of composition, and so they had settled on the first they had found, after making sure that no other green-things was close enough to impede their escape.

Morr had questioned if it was wise to attack a group double their own, and Gargant's firm reassurances and memories of his prowess had convinced him, but in that moment, now that he was alone, it didn't sound so wise…

He thought, he really really thought about just turning tail and scampering away, there and then, just run away. Maybe it was the best course of action? Maybe… maybe Gargant was overstimating himself and, even then he was the one in the danger and…

"Rattaz!"

Morr started with a squeak. He had been so taken by his doubts that he hadn't noticed the green-things appear from beyond the corner! Now one of them was pointing wildly at him, with the others following to see.

"Rattaz!"

"Rattaz!"

"Rattaz!"

"Rattaz!"

Morr speculated that they meant something bad with that word, but his brain was a little too busy in that moment to actually wonder about it, especially with the running away while squeaking in wild terror.

"Don't trip don't trip don't trip don't trip." He chanted, eyes frantically fixed at his own feet, while he pumped with his arms and legs as fast as he could, trying to go faster by pure sheer of will.

The wild screeches echoing behind him seemed to put a savage spring in his gait, as well as pure terror in his brain, and he dashed beyond the corner where Gargant was hidden as fast as an arrow, without even glancing to see if his brother was still there.

He kept going until he felt a scream of pain explode behind him, followed by alarmed screeches.

He almost tripped as he tried to stop his momentum, almost ending with his snout on the floor, and turned around even while he kept stumbling forward.

Gargant stood between the screeching goblins, two cloaked figures strewn messily at his feet, while a third struggled to get back up. The forth, the only one still on his feet, was just under the descending knife of the black-fur.

Morr grimaced and averted his eyes. There was another scream, then a series of stomping steps getting away.

Then, nothing.

Slowly, Morr turned to watch again, eyes wide.

Gargant knelt by a corpse, his paw rustling in the tattered cloak of the downed goblin.

"H-have we done it?" Morr asked, barely believing it.

Gargant turned to him, raising a thumb up. A grin softened his usual impassive countenance.

"Well done, bro." He said.

Morr felt relief and pride surge though him. They did it! He did it! Well, of course! He was Morr! And his brother Gargant was with him! What, those green-things actually believed they had a chance against them?

"Do they have good-good things?" He asked, excited.

"Trash for the most part." Gargant replied, the left corner of his mouth still curving a bit upward despite his words. "Bits of rocks and bones, and lots of these." He gestured for the scattered crocked spears. They had roughly-hewn stones as points, and they looked like the most useless weapon ever. "Still, they have these too." He raised a rust-encrusted, curved knife. "Or they have a smith-hammer, and i don't think so-so, or they scavenged-pillaged them somewhere over the surface."

And that meant that the goblins almost certainly had an exit to above ground. Still…

"Not like it-it change much for us, yes-yes." Morr pointed out. It wasn't like they could cleave their way through a horde of green-things. Even as emboldened as he felt, he still knew that.

Gargant nodded, and, tossing the knife away, got up.

"Let's go and see what they do-do."

They scampered off quickly, searching for a spot where to wait for the results of their ambush.

Morr took the lead this time, chest proudly puffed up.

"We're a great team, aren't we-we?" He chanted, feeling cheerful. How stupid of him to doubt himself! Him and his brother, together they could do anything!

"Don't get all-all cheery now." Gargant reprimanded, even if grinning a bit. "It was just a easy-peasy ambush, and those were just little green-things."

Morr glared at him. Why had he ruin this for him? Come on!

"Oh, shut up, you numbskull." He replied with irritation. "It-it was perfect, and you know it-it."

Gargant shook his head, snorting softly, but said nothing.

With no more interruptions, Morr was more than happy of returning at being cheerful.

"Have you-you saw how that last green-thing had scampered-ran off?" He snickered. "I-i bet he pissed his pants in fear!" He snorted with amused disgust. "Green-things, ugly, nasty things! Stupid and cowards!"

"No kidding." Gargant nodded. "They're almost as bad as the men-things."

"Oh? You saw those too-too?" Morr asked, curious.

"Yeah, and i'd wish i have not." Gargant grimaced slightly. "Ugly no-furs. All naked-skins and their faces all flat. No whiskers and no tail. And they all smell wrong."

Morr shivered. Ack, they really sounded awful. Still, he had a morbid kind of curiosity about it. He had to remember to ask more about them to his brother.

"Even then." He said. "They were four, and you went and kill-slay three and set the forth to run-scamper. They didn't even touch-scratched you." He commented with admiration. "You're strong, bro. Strong as a stormvermin. No, strong as a chieftain, yes-yes."

And, as long as they were together, it meant that that strenght was out to protect him. Crap, it felt so good.

Gargant snorted dismissively.

"Not strong as chieftain." He denied. "Only as stormvermin. Anyway…" He jerked with his chin toward Morr. "Before, when you kill-slayed the green-thing. Why did you close you eyes?"

Morr was surprised by the sudden change of topic. What, Gargant didn't like to be complimented? He would have been more than happy of being complimented! Still, that question caught his attention, and he let the matter slip.

"Well, i-i don't know." He said with caution, wary of another lecture. "It has just happened, i-i suppose."

"Alright." Gargant nodded. "But do not do that anymore, yes-yes. It looked like it was your first kill."

"Well…" Morr hesitated. As any proper Skaven, hatred for the other, lesser races was engrained in him, and to admit that he hadn't killed many of them yet was almost embarassing. "I-it actually was, really."

Gargant blinked, and watched him with surprise. "Really?"

"Well, yes." Morr narrowed his eyes. "Is-is that a problem?"

"Well, no. Just…"

"Just?"

Gargant seemed conflicted, like he wasn't sure about something. "How did you feel? When you killed-slayed?"

Morr stopped, frowning. What kind of question was that? Any skaven worth his tail should have been proud of killing the enemies of his race, and expect the same from his brethren.

Still, now that he though about it…

"I suppose… good?" He said eventually. "I-i mean, i felt like i was alive, strong!, like i just had a big feast. So… good, yes, i think. But…" Gargant was watching with attention, and he scratched his arm, at unease. "There was this strange thing, too-too. Like… like i had a slug slithering inside of my throat. Or… oh, i don't know how to describe it, alright?" He blurted out. Flashes of Throttle's glazed eyes had appeared before his eyes for some reason, and he felt deeply at unease by it. What was with all those questions all of a sudden? They were having jolly good time earlier. What was his brother thinking?

Still, Gargant's expression was indecipherable, and, no matter how much he tried to peer into his mind, he just couldn't understand his thoughts. Just in that moment, he realized that, despite having talked and seen much with Gargant, in the end his brother was still full of misteries for him.

Unwilling to dwell on it any further, he snapped around, as much as to close the conversation as to keep his distress from showing.

"W-well!" He exclaimed. "Let's not lose any more time, yes-yes. We have to find a good spot where to wait for the green-things' move!"

"This here is okay, bro."

"Oh, ok."

They settled down in a curve in the corridor. They were close enough for their good hearing to hear the raucuos voices of goblins and gauge their reactions, as well as far enough as to not being spotted or caught by surprise.

Thankfully for Morr, that didn't wish to indulge on certain thoughts too much, their waiting was cut short quickly.

The goblin fugitive, as they had hoped, returned with a big group in tow. But, contrary to what they had hoped, not only the goblins didn't seem scared, but, judging from the warcries, they went into an ever bigger frenzy!

Fingers fiddling, Morr Exchange a glance with Gargant.

The black-fur nodded, and, recluctantly, he did the same.

They had to try again.

This time, as he took position into the center of the corridor, Morr was ready. In fact, he was more than ready, he was pumped! It had already gone well once, it would have gone well twice.

Gargant sent him a thumb-up, to which he replied with a nod, a shaking fist and a what he presumed was a dashing grin.

What a strange fellow, his brother, but he knew his stuff, and that was what it mattered.

When Gargant disappeared before the corner, Morr turned to face the other end of the corridor. This time, he wasn't afraid of the steps coming closer; in fact, he was eager of seeing them come. Oh, he was ready, but they weren't, not even of a long shot.

"Rattaz!"

"Kill'im!"

It felt almost as a game as he turned around and dashed down the corridor, the rushed steps of the goblins hot on his heels. Stupid green-things, he snickered, how they could hope of being able to catch him?

As he passed the corner where his brother was hidden, he perked up his ears, eager to hear the sounds of dismay and confusion that his brother's appearance would have brought.

Only that he didn't hear them.

Heart jumping a beat, he snapped to watch behind himself. Behind the corner, there wasn't anybody! Gargant! Where was Gargant? Where was his brother?

The goblins, five in total, screeched like possessed and, as awareness that, yes, he was alone now, shot through him, Morr almost had a heart attack.

Fear put wings to the feet, and in that case that was just what happened. Morr ran as never before, with only primal terror screaming in his head, murderous screams in his ears and the horrible sensation of a green, crooked hand about to grab him by the back of the neck.

He continued to ran even when the goblins' screams had faded into the distance, managing to start to think again just when the distance was more than enough to being called safe.

Gasping and panting, he propped himself against a wall, trying to get a hold of what was actually happening.

His brother! Gargant! Where was he? Why wasn't he where he had? Why? Why? Why?

The realization of being both alone and of not knowing where came casting on him like a mountain of bricks. Frantically, he looked around, searching for a sign, any sign, that could tell him where he was. To his immense relief, one of the ashen signs he had taken care of leaving was there, just a dozen of steps forward.

He passed a paw over his forehead, half sighing and half panting. Okay, he knew where he was, but his brother! His brother! He was alone! And where was Gargant?

He felt his eyes starting to sting, but the voice of his brother calling him crybaby echoed into his mind and he pushed back the tears with fury.

Alright, calm down, Morr. Calm down and think. Think!

Gargant couldn't have abandoned him, it was out of the question. So, something had happened to him. Green-things? Impossible! They wouldn't have been able to sneak on his brother so silently, even less being able to drag him away without even shedding a drop of blood, or raising a squake of hunger, and he hadn't heard or seen any of those.

Or at least, he though it was so.

The only way to be sure was of returning there.

He swallowed, beads of sweat running through his coat. This… this, he would make sure that Gargant would remember it. Forever! As soon as he found him, he would hear the music!

Gathering his shake courage, he began to sneak, percorring back the path he had made running in terror.

Thankfully, the nerve-wracking silence and tension were the only things that vexed him in the way back. The howling mod of the goblins - he shuddered at thinking to their ugly faces twisted in hateful expressions - had disappeared somewhere into the labyrinth, probably making a wrong turn while they pursued him.

Morr tried to not linger on them.

Tried.

Eventually, he reached the site of the botched ambush.

Carefully, keeping anxiously watch over the corridor, he went down on all four, and started to sniff around. The smell of his brother, mixed ad almost covered by the goblin blood, was clear, and it went… down the corridor? But why? Wh…

Morr freezed. Just now… he had the impression of having heard…

Down into the earth you go.

Fear's cold fingers slid along his spine as his fur stood on an end. That voice… the whispers!

He got up, paws shaking as he watched in the direction where the whispers had come from. The same toward which his brother's smell went. The ghost-things, the ghots-things had taken his brother!

He swallowed, and bared his teeth, rage and fear pushing each other in his brain. Not his brother! Everything but not his brother!

Clutching a dagger between trembling paws, he started to advance, following the shadowy trail.


	18. Chapter 18

Morr had always lived in fear. As much as his own whiskers, fear was a part of him, a costant companion of his life; cold in his veins, grasping icy at his heart, settling, heavy and unsettling in his gut. As rampant as a tidal wave, obliterating his rational thinking in a maelstrom of terror; silent, tickling against his scalp like tiny tiny little ants making their way over his skin, it didn't matter. Fear was with him, always. Prodding, pushing, warning, urging, admonishing, always there, a disembodied, wordless voice buried deep into his brain.

He had learnt to live with it, learnt to respect it, listen to it, because often, when courage and lucid thinking failed him, it had been his only guide in an otherwise uncaring world.

He had never thought of it like a weakness. Why would he have to? It was part of him, part of the Skaven as much as their whiskers and tail were. It was one of the thing that made them better than the other, lesser races, as the Grey Seers kept on repeating. Yes, courage was a good thing, but greater was the one that knew the value of caution, and he, during his years as a clanrat, had learnt that lesson well.

Now, he found himself to curse it.

"Go back" said that little voice in his head as he advanced through the shadowy corridor. "Go back and save yourself. Forget your brother. He's not worth your life. He abandoned you. He left you."

At first, Morr had tried to argue using logic. He couldn't go onward without Gargant; he was his muscle and shield, he had the food and half of the water. Alone, he wouldn't stand a chance against the green-things, or the dead-things.

"You have water. Eat the mushrooms you already found. Sneak away when the green-things aren't watching. You know where the exit is. Take one of the cape and mask yourself as one of them. Alone, you can do it. With Gargant, you wouldn't."

It had sense, it tickled his pride. He had the informations, he had the means. He could pull it off.

But… but…

"He has left you, remember? Left you to die. Who said that he won't do the same again? Let him go, as he has done to you."

He kept on advancing. When he was with Gargant, that place hadn't looked so spooky, or it was just his impression? The twisting lines on the walls, ceiling and floor looked like writhing serpents now, and, when he watched them through the tail of his eyes, seemed like they were trying to come out from were they had been etched…

"See?" Said the voice. "This place is dangerous. Alone, you're weak. You're just exposing yourself to danger. Turn back. Save yourself. That's what a true skaven would do. Aren't you a true skaven?"

He was! He absolutely was! And he was going to fulfill his ambitions! Rise through the ranks! Lords over those that had umiliated and beaten him!

But… but…

"He has left you. He has left you. He has left you."

"But he has returned." The whisper left his mouth before he could stop it.

He felt a big hole where his heart should have been, a pit that hurt like a physical wound, that throbbed with every breath he took.

With every step, the angry whispers of the dead-things became stronger, mixing with the little voice in his head.

"I doesn't matter." It said. "He has left you. Abandoned you. He will do it again. You don't need him. You can save yourself alone. Listen to these whispers. The dead-things are close and they will drag you down. Gargant isn't as strong as you thought if they have taken him. He will just weight you down. He's doing it already."

It appealed to his cowardiness, to his envy, to his frenzy to surive, survive, survive at any cost. And still, the callousness of the voice made anger flare inside of him.

"He's not an useless weight! H-He's my brother!"

"And so what? A brother is just another competitor, just closer and more dangerous."

"No no no! A brother is… a brother is a brother! It means something! It means everything!"

"Survival is everything. That's the skaven's way, and you know it."

A memory erupted in his mind, the vision of a great, cavernous temple. Immense black columns supported great arches in a ceiling as dark as the darkness of the most deep caverns, where light hadn't ever reached. The enormous naves were filled to the brim with skaven, a moltitude of lifting eyes and pink muzzles raised toward the great, black altar. Morr couldn't see the Grey Seer that stood beyond it, but his squeaking voice echoed loud and strong.

"Always remember, children of the Horned Rat!" He said. "He watches over your struggles, and they please Him. So, struggle, children. Strive with all your might to survive. Obey and carve your way through our great civilization, and this be known to all that calls Him Father and Master. This is the Way of the Skaven and none else exist!"

The voice echoed, strong and mighty, inside of his skull, before fading away, letting him once again alone into the corridor.

Morr stumbled and leaned against the wall, panting.

"You remember." Said the voice. "You know what the right way is. You pretended to forget, but you know. Do what you are, brethren of the rat-kin."

Eyes downcast, Morr remained still, his chest going up and down.

"Yeah, i remember." He murmured. "But i remember something else also, yes-yes. I remember…"

Him and his brother, talking about nothing and everything. Him and his brother, running away together. Him and his brother him and his brother him and his brother. Gargant, as he sighed and shook his head. Gargant, giving him a thumbs-up. Gargant, with pain flashing in his eyes. Gargant, with his misteries.

 _You better pick that up, yes-yes._

 _On your feet, brother._

 _We have to celebrate, yes?_

 _…because i failed._

 _I am sorry, brother._

 _You have to start to pay attention where you scuttle, alright?_

 _I am sorry, brother._

 _He gave us this life, it's different._

 _I am sorry, brother._

 _I am sorry, brother._

Slowly, Morr clasped the fur on his chest with a paw.

"This…" He murmured. "This is precious…" He clenched his teeth, anger flaring. "And i am not giving it up-up." He growled, and rising sharply, he started to advance again.

"This is not the skaven way." The voice said in his head. "Are you not a skaven? A true skaven?"

"I-i am!" He exclaimed with anger.

"You're not doing what a true skaven would."

"I-i am doing it-it. I am keeping a thing that's mine! A true skaven don't let his things go away! Never!"

"You just twist the words to your use."

"W-well, that's what a true skaven would do!"

"You know that you can't fool the Horned Rat, He know what your real thoughts are. Remember the book. Remember the story. Do you really want to be punished again?"

"A-and what my real thoughts would be? Eh?"

"You care for your brother. You don't want to lose him. You want for you and him to keep going together through this uncaring world. And then, you saw something in him. You saw great pain beyond that facade of his, and you want to help him, to share the weight."

Morr hesitated "I… i…" It was true, completely, undeniably true, and still he wanted this, he wanted it more than he had ever wanted something in his life. And he couldn't have it? No, he couldn't accept it! Anger, hot and burning, flared inside of him. "I-i know what i am doing!" He squeaked. "And i-i don't talk to myself! I-i don't need to justify myself!" He grabbed his head. He didn't manage to differentiate anymore between the voice of his fear and the whispers of the dead.

Still, that ourburst quelled the first, and he, almost fearing that it would return to try and undermine his resolve, dashed forward.

The whispers were loud now, screams of anger and hate that were barely intellegible. Morr felt them slam against him like they were a physical thing, his fur raising on an end like under a strong wind. He stumbled, but then braced himself and continued forth.

The corridor was changing now. The smooth walls were growing more and more apart, the seemingly-endless lines etched in them now converging on the floor alone, becoming straight and angular.

"What even is this place…" Morr panted while running forward. To hell with questions! Gargant!

The now much wider corridor split into three. Without even slowing down, Morr took the central route. The voices came from it, clear and loud.

The corridor continued straight like an arrow, before ramping down into a decline and then into a wide flight of stairs. Morr almost tumbled down in his rush to traverse them, scraping a paw in the process and gaining himself a nasty welt on knee, but he barely aknowledged. The screams were at their peak now, rushing through his fur like a windstorm. He had never encountered the sheer volume of hatred that weighted in that moment over his shoulders, of insensate rage, not even during his own meeting with the dead-things. What even was happening?

After the stairs, the corridor continued for a brief trait, ending then into a great gate set into a large white wall. Like it was a mouth opened, the screams came from it. Barely looking at it, Morr traversed it.

After it, there was his brother.

Morr had heard of the great storms that ravaged the overworld. Colossal black clouds covered the sky and obscured the sun, while the wind rose to a terrifying crescendo. Trees were uprooted, dwellings were frantumated, and everything was tossed to dance into the sky, rubble suspended between earth and cloud while the gods howled their wrath and raged over the mortals.

During the moments in which he thought about those things - from what he was a little ratling he had liked to think - he had tried to immagine such power unleashed.

In that moment, he thought that his imagination had fallen very short from the original.

A storm wracked the chamber beyond the gate. Massive gales swirled and trashed, filling the air with howls. Morr could see shapes and faces writhing into the wind, ever-changing outlines that screamed in anger.

Gargant was right in the middle of it.

Kneeling like under a massive weight, the black-fur stood at the center of the storm, the winds crushing and lashing at him.

"Brother!" Morr screamed in fright, but his voice was engulfed by the scream of the storm.

Clenching his teeth, he raised a paw in front of his snout and began to advance. The wind howled against him, making every step a struggle and he felt his heart thumping into his throat, but he pressed on.

Step after step, he got closer and closer, the force of the storm only rising as he did. And still, as much as the voices screamed wildly, they were only sounds screeching into his ears. They didn't scratch at his mind, nor muddled his thoughts and senses. Maybe, maybe whatever was behind that apparition was so completely focused over Gargant as to not even being able to notice him? He didn't know, nor he did care. He had eyes only for the kneeling figure at the center of the chamber, his mind a chaos of fear and blind obstinacy.

Gargant was trembling slightly as he reached him, his lips moving into voiceless whispers. His eyes were squeezed shut, his paws clenched into fists at the sides of his head.

"Gargant!" Morr screamed, but his brother didn't seem even to realize that he was there. Moor wheezed and clutched his paws at his chest. The winds whipped against his skin like knives, stealing his breath, their voices deafening him. He was terrified. "Brother! Brother!" He called again, his voice hoarse, reaching with a paw to him.

The contact seemed to awake his brother, that stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open and then shut again. He opened his mouth, and Morr leaned forward to hear him.

"Th…" A jolt coursed through his body, and the black-fur clamped shut his mouth with a hiss like he was in pain.

Morr snarled with anger and despair in equal measure. "Silence, curse you-you!" He screamed against the wind. "Let him go! Let him stay! Shoo! Shoo!" He waved his paws like he could scare the ghosts away like they were buzzing flies.

He stopped at feeling the paw of his brother clenching around his shoulder, and looked down. Gargant was watching him with an eye, wide and bloodshot. Morr felt desperate relief shooting through him, but before he could utter a word, the black-fur opened his mouth to talk.

"The…" He said, his voice slurred like talking was costing him a great deal of pain. "The gem…" He croaked.

Morr leaned toward him, grabbing desperately at his arm.

"What gem? Brother! What gem?"

Gargant clenched his teeth, struggling to speak again. Morr felt the hole in his chest throb with pain at seeing him like that.

"The gem…" The black-fur murmured, so low that Morr struggled to pick up his words amidst the storm. "On the… altar… destroy… it…" Said that, it seemed like his strenght failed him, and he returned into his previous position.

With barely a clue of what to make of those words, confused and scared, Morr snapped up and frantically watched around. A gem, an altar, where were they, where… there!

Just after the center of the storm, stood a simple, white altar. Placed upon it, a scarlet gem glinted like blood just spilled, its luminosity untouched by the howling gales.

Morr felt his instict rebel at the idea of touching that thing, but that wasn't time for being fearful, and he grudgingly left his brother and started to advance toward it. It was close, very close, but the winds buffeting against him made it look like it was a hundred miles away. It was like trying to battle one's way through a maze of arms that tried to hold him back.

Still, Morr trudged on, fear and obstinacy pushing him forward at the same time. He would not yield his brother, not a stupid dead-thing of the past nor to anybody else. Never, never!

He was almost there, when the consciousness hid in the winds took notice of him. Morr felt a surge of anger invest his thoughts, like hearing the roar of a bear in the distance. He stumbled, and grasped his head, a terribly cold voice trying to press its way into his mind.

 _Lost. What is precious. Lost. Alone. No. Not alone. Never alone. Together forever. Forever together. One. One. One. Get away. Don't touch it. Don't ruin it. Forever we stand. Injustice. Unacceptable. Hate. Hate. We hate you._

It was an avalanche of words, anger and hate bearing over him, smothering his toughts with needle-like stabs of pain into his skull. In despair, Morr thought back to his brother's might, how he had banished those voices the first time.

"A-away…!" He squeaked, but his voice came out like a weak croak, meaningless and useless.

He stumbled forward, frantically trying to keep his mind in one piece. The gem, he thought; he had to take it, grab it, destroy it. He focused over it with all his might, and clenching his teeth, he stepped forward. And again. And again. And again. The voices increate their assault, their words blurring into a howl of anger, but maybe their focus over Gargant had exhausted their strenght, or maybe they found difficult to release their grasp over the black-fur, as Morr found his concentration being able to withstand the assault.

Barely.

He concentrated over the gem, his vision blurred with tears. The gem was there, at arm's lenght. He had just to take it and smash it. The gem the gem the gem. The blood. The gem. He was strong. Strong. Strong!

He felt something surge from inside of him, a cracking power that pushed the voices back and filled him with newfound strenght and almost ecstatic determination.

Chittering in triumph, he grabbed the gem, raised it over his head and smashed it down on the altar.

A terrible, high-pitched scream shook the chamber. Morr stumbled, his paws shooting to cover his ears, his concentration overhelmed. The strenght receded, then disappeared, and he remained adrift inside of the howling maelstrom. A shape darted against him from the storm. He saw its hateful eyes, its fanged mouth, its crooked claws posed to rend his flesh. He screamed, and his swirling thoughts exploded into a white flash.

When he came back, he was still screaming. Bile and spittle covered his snout, and for a moment he remained there, screaming his lungs out, that terrible visage of doom bearing down on him.

He eventually stopped, the realization of sitting down and still not having been mauled to death finally kicking in. He watched frantically around. The chamber was empty; the storm had passed and, even more importantly, Gargant knelt beside of him, waiting patiently for him to calm down.

Morr felt himself almost melt with relief. His brother was safe! He was safe! They were safe! He left himself collapse back down, laying over the floor with a groan.

Gargant's snout appeared in his vision a moment later.

"How do you-you feel?" The black-fur asked. He wore a tired grin, but, to Morr's great relief, looked otherwise unharmed.

"Never felt better, yes-yes!" He snickered, flicking his tail joyously.

"Happy?"

"Yep!" He chanted happily. His throat felt sore, and he turned his head and spat a glob of bile and spittle before answering. "I am safe. You are safe. We are safe! Take that, you stupid dead-things!" He pumped a fist into the air, triumphant.

Gargant narrowed his eyes, a spark of amused affection glinting in them, then drew back, disappearing from his sight. He said nothing, but Morr didn't mind the silence that settled between them; it had a comfortable vibe to it, smelled of a job well-done. He liked it, especially after all that chaos of earlier.

At least, until he heard padded steps.

Frowning, he propped himself up, and found that Gargant was walking away.

"Where are you-you going, brother?" He asked, more curious than anything.

Gargant stopped and turned. There was tiredness in his eyes.

"We have to-to get back to those green-things, yes-yes. Scare them away." He gestured toward the door. "Come. Let's get back to-to work."

Morr blinked.

"Wait a moment…" He raised a paw when Gargant turned to march off again. "W-wait!" He raised himself on a knee, almost ready to jump on his feet.

The black-fur stopped. A little ripple seemed to shake his shoulders before he turned again, a single eye watching Morr inquisitively.

On his part, Morr was left without a clue.

"But…" He stammered. "You have just that to say-squeak?"

Gargant watched hm for a moment, impassive, before turning and giving him his back again.

"Yes."

Morr was caught by confusion.

"But… but…"

"They caught me-me by surprise." Gargant cut him out. "They dragged me here. See that gem you smashed?" He didn't gesture for it, but Morr turned to look at the altar nonetheless. The gem's shattered remains laid over the smooth stone, its reddish brilliance now dull. "I-i think that it was a object important for the dead-thing, yes-yes. Something toward which had a big-strong bond." Gargant explained. "Here, the dead-thing could use all its power, yes-yes. That's why they brought me-me here. I have failed to have proper care. You-you saved me. That's all there is to say-squeak."

Morr was gaping. He couldn't believe to what he wa hearing!

"That's totally not all that there's to say-squeak about this!" He protested.

"There is." Gargant insisted calmly. "Let's go now-now."

Morr hesitated for a moment, baffled, before baring his teeth and charging forward. He side-stepped Gargant and stood in his way, arms spread to bar him from going forward.

"We're not going, no!" He exclaimed.

Gargant looked surprised, before resettling back into his usual composure. He looked about to say something, but Morr cut him off before he could utter a single word.

"First of all-all. That was the biggest-scariest thing i have ever seen the ghost-things do! It was a fricking tempest! Are you okay?" By how he had barked it out, it sounded more like a menace than an actual question but Morr didn't care.

Gargant looked to his paws and feet, moved his wrists, then thumped a couple of times his feet on the floor.

"I am okay." He said eventually.

The irritation that was boiling inside of Morr flared to full-blown anger at that point.

"No, you don't, you stupid!" He squeaked, almost giving into a tantrum, here and there. "That was terrible! I almost died and i wasn't even in the midst of it-it! You can't be okay! You-you can't!"

Gargant's shoulders slumped in tiredness.

"Why have you-you to be so difficult, brother?" He asked with mild irritation, scratching his neck and averting his eyes.

"It's not me being difficult! It's you that you're being stupid! You're not okay!"

"That's not for you to-to decide." A hard edge appeared in Gargant's voice, and Morr flinched back for a moment, before clenching his teeth again.

"I-i just saved your butt!" He squealed, pointing wildly at him. "And then i can decide it-it!"

"That doesn't make any sense, and i you know it-it."

"You don't make any sense!" Morr squealed. "We get attacked by wolf-rats and you don't break a-a sweat. I get bitten by the fricking Horned Rat and you stand there and do exercises! Now i save you-you from the ghost-things raising a storm in your brain and you say that's okay, let's just go back to-to do what we're doing! What's wrong with you-you?"

For some reason, Morr regretted having said the words the moment they left his mouth, but it was too late for that, and so he didn't back down.

Gargant looked at him in silence for a moment, his slightly twitching whiskers the only sign of his thinking.

"I…" He looked ready to talk, and Morr leaned forward eagerly, but Gargant averted his gaze. "I have seen much-much." The black-fur murmured. "Heard, smelled and seen, yes-yes. Much that i thought existed only in mother's tales." Morr freezed. "It… it doesn't surprise me what it has happened here, no."

Morr struggled to understand the implications, together with the fact that that was actually the first time one of them had mentioned their mother. He had avoided that topic with almost religious zeal, relegating it to the farthest corner of his mind. Now, it returned in full swing.

"What happened to you-you?" He asked, his anger abating. "All these years… what happened? What have you seen?"

Gargant snorted, still not watching him.

"I have lost my faith." He just said, and, without another word, stepped forward.

Morr hesitated, unsure, but then he raised his arms and puffed his chest up.

"Stop this." Gargant said, now looking more tired than irritated.

"No! You can't go! Not after that!" Morr hissed. "And then, what do you want to do now? Going after the gree-things' patrols again?"

"No." Gargant shook his head. "It's too risky to-to wait more. Those ghost-things could return and we couldn't be so lucky again. We must find an exit now-now. I will kill all the green-things and open a path for us-us to go."

Morr balked, his eyes bulging.

"What!?" For a crazy moment, he thought that his brother was kidding or something, but then he saw his serious face and understood he was deadly serious. And that scared him even more. "Have you gone crazy-mad?" He squealed, waving frantically his arms. "Who know how many there are of those, yes-yes! They will kill-slay you!"

Gargant looked undaunted.

"They won't." And, without another word, he pushed Morr by a side and marched over.

Morr stumbled, barely believing to what was happening, before jumping forward and grabbing his brother's arm.

"You-you cannot be serious!" He squeaked. "You cannot do that! You-you will die!"

"I won't." Gargant negated, and kept on going, dragging his brother behind him. "Let me go."

In despair, Morr raked his brain for something, anything, to stop his brother from this last craziness. He might as well just throw himself headfirst again a fricking wall!

"Hey! Hey!" He squeaked. "Remember earlier! When i told-squeaked you that i wouldn't ever forgive you-you if that thing-ambush went wrong? W-well, i am not going to forgive now if you go, you hear me? You only get forgiviness if you listen to me-me now!"

It was almost a gamble, really, based upon the vague idea that Gargant would care about what he thought about him. And, surprisingly for Morr, it actually worked. Gargant stopped almost instantly.

Almost not believing it, Morr tentatively raised a paw toward his brother.

Before he could even touch him, though, the black-fur snapped around, so fast that he squeaked in surprise, and stormed back the way he had come.

Morr heard a thump, and, turning, found with surprise that Gargant had thrown his backpack on the floor and had curled against the wall, giving him his back.

"Gar…"

"If we aren't doing anything else today." Gargant's sharp voice cut him off. "We might as better rest, yes-yes."

To say that Morr was caught by surprise was an understatement. Just what the heck…

He just didn't understand. He was concerned about his brother, about his well-being, and he felt that it was more than right for him to be. Heck, that fricking storm, all bearing down on him! He was concerned, and he was angry at him for not feeling the same. He had to be concerned too! He had to be tired, frazled, shaken, fricking something! He wanted for Gargant to be concerned about himself too! But then, what the heck was rolling in that stupid of his? Hunting all the goblin alone? What in the heck…

Then, it hit him.

"You… you're doing it again, aren't you?" It was a murmur, but Gargant had to hear it, as he stirred slightly. "When we were in the pit… i heard mother talk-squeak to the guardian. She said… she said that you didn't take more milk, that you-you left it for us to drink. And never said nothing to anybody. You just did. And i remember you-you. In the pit, you never said anything about how you felt, yes-yes. And you keep doing the same, even now-now. You never talk-squeak. You-you always keep everything to yourself. Even when you're not good." He advanced of a step. "Why? Why do you do this? Why…"

"Don't!"

Morr flinched like he had just been hit. Gargant hadn't ever raised his voice, and now it had sounded like a whiplash.

Gargant lowered the arm he had raised. He hadn't ever turned around.

"Be silent now. I want to-to sleep."

And, just like that, he huddled closer to the wall, and said nothing more.

Silence fell, and Morr knew that the conversation was over. Words now would bring him nothing more.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, before settling into a corner of the chamber. He chose a spot from where he had good vision of the entrance. Gargant didn't seem ready to take over guardian duty, so it fell to him, he supposed.

Still, questions and doubts plagued him. He just didn't understand his brother, nor he understood the urge that had possessed him to speak those words, to push himself forward and ask for… for what? That Gargant talled to him? That he assuaged all the questions he had about his brother? It was that, he supposed. He wanted to know, he wanted to understand, the motives of which weren't clear not even to him.

I have seen much-much. Heard, smelled and seen, yes-yes. Much that i thought existed only in mother's tales.

Yes, but what had he seen? What had he been witnessed to? What had he thought after the pit? What had he learned? What had he lived through? From whom was he escaping from?

Why did he act the way he did?

He just… didn't understand. He didn't understand at all. And he really wanted to.

He laid down, huddling against his backpack. He didn't expect to being able to sleep, so he mulled over those questions, without finding answers. It was maddening, really.

One thing was sure, though. Whoever was that was pursuing his brother, forcing him to find shelter into a ruined tomb, he already hated them. But then, he wouldn't have met him, had things gone different!

Ah, what a mess!

Time passed, but, as expected, sleep didn't arrive. Restless, Morr found himself passing through a combination of postures, without managing to find a good one. It wasn't like he wasn't used to sleep over simple floor, but truth was, he had too many thoughts and questions rolling through his mind to being able.

To take out one of the book, not even to think about it. He had enough meat on his fire as it was. And even then, his mind only kept on going over the mistery that was his brother. He thought that they had, how you could call it?, a connection, but he just didn't get him, and…

He paused, ears perking up. What was that?

He stood still, trying to… there! Again! That sound!

Curious, he propped himself up a bit, ear posed to listen. There! Again! But what it was…?

He stiffened.

It was… sobbing?

Slowly, he got up, gaze scanning his sorroundings. The same gloomy light that illuminated the rest of the ruins shone there, filling the chamber with shadows. He briefly noticed that the lines carved into the floor converged into the altar, forming a series of circles and other shapes around it. They thrummed slightly, like shadows of serpents writhing softly.

Morr continued to scan the chamber. His eyes ended on the shape of Gargant.

The sobbing echoed again.

Slowly, with some hesitation, Morr stalked toward him.

"Brother?"

There was no answer.

Morr paused, a memory of another place, another time taking the forefront place in his mind. It felt just like that time, in the pit…

He swallowed, and kept going.

Gargant was huddled against the wall, tighly curled into a ball of black fur and dirty cloth. Morr hesitated, then pushed forward, enough to see his snout.

And paused, his eyes widening in wonder.

Gargant, his brother, he was crying.

"B-brother?

The black-fur seemed to barely aknowledge his presence, just shifting a bit. His half-lidded eyes were glazed, a trail of silent tears leading down into his fur.

"Morr. Brother." His voice was almost a whimper, and Morr knelt down to him without thinking, his paws shooting to his shoulder.

"I-i am here." He squeaked. "Brother. What's happening to you-you?"

Gargant sobbed, and swallowed.

"I didn't want to hurt her, brother." He said, his voice cracked. Morr freezed. "I didn't want to. But i did. It's my fault. It's all my fault." Morr felt a block of fevered ice form into his chest. Eyes wide, he clutched his brother with fervor. He wanted to say something, but the words didn't want to come out.

"It's all my fault. It's my fault." Gargant repeated. "I have let the monster come out. And that's why the darkness will come for me." He turned to watch Morr, his eyes wide and full of fear. "I can see it already, brother. It's coming for me. It smells the blood on my fur. Brother, i am scared. Brother. I don't want to be taken. Brother!"

His paw shot to take hold of Morr's, that started, but then grabbed his brother tightly.

"I-i am here, brother." He said, with a steadiness that he didn't feel.

Gargant sobbed, and lowered his gaze.

"I must have forgiviness. I wanted to protect you, but i have failed. But i must have it." He murmured. "I must. I must. I must…"

Gargant sobbed again and buried his head against his own fur, repeating again and again that he was sorry.

Shaken, Morr said nothing, just remaining there, clutching his brother's trembling frame. He had wanted to know more about what was behind the seemingly impassive facade of his brother, and now he felt that he understood one of the cores of Gargant's motives.

He searched for atonement.

They remained there for a long time, in that chamber full of shadows, the mighty black-fur sobbing and shaking and the little skaven, clutching him tightly.


End file.
